Cliché
by EchoLima
Summary: There's a fine line between passionate love and passionate hate and Clarke has to learn the dance or risk being consumed.
1. Meet Cute - Or Not

Clarke pushed back from her desk, rubbing her temples in a vain attempt to ease the pounding headache she'd been nursing all afternoon. After another long day in the infirmary, she was more than ready to call it quits. In addition to the every day mental breakdowns, intentionally swallowed contraband, and scuffles between inmates, she'd treated a shiv wound to the abdomen and a nasty case of pneumonia, the last of which had her more worried than any of the others.

No matter how many times she'd spoken with Warden Jaha about the horrid living conditions in B-wing, he'd refused to heed her warnings and now one of the inmates was in intensive care. It was only a matter of time before someone died, but that seemed to be the last thing on the Warden's mind. Maybe if he could tear himself away from all of those golf scrambles with the Governor, he might be able to save the prison from an ever looming media nightmare. If word got out that he was aware of the living conditions and willfully ignored them in favor of his budget and someone died as a result, they'd all be out on the street.

It wasn't that she couldn't easily find another job. Her mother, who was Chief of Medicine at the prestigious Ark Memorial Hospital, was constantly urging Clarke to leave her job and "stop squandering her talent," but there was something about working at TonDC State Penitentiary, that spoke to her. A maximum security prison wasn't exactly the dream job for most doctors, but Clarke wanted to work at a place that she was really needed and state prisons were always short on good doctors. Most people didn't want to go to med school for the better part of a decade and amass a staggering amount of student debt, only to end up in a relatively low paying position like this one, but Clarke didn't need the money thanks to an inheritance from her father and she rather liked the challenge this particular sort of work presented.

Despite her mother's repeated attempts at reform, Clarke had always felt guilty about having so much when others had so little, and in a way this position was her way of giving back to society, not that she'd ever admit that to anyone. Clarke had been volunteering in rehab facilities and homeless shelters alongside her father since she was a kid and she couldn't imagine her life without it. However, Abigail Griffin had never agreed with Clarke's version of "lending a helping hand" and she was pretty vocal about it. Not that her mother was against philanthropy, not in the least. She just considered writing a large check while others did the dirty work the best way to help those less fortunate. Clarke liked to think that her father would have understood her motivations in taking this position, but then, Jake Griffin was a very special kind of man. He and her mother were as different as two people could possibly be and Clarke often wondered when the old adage "opposites attract" turned from quiet arguments and cute make-ups to screaming matches and broken hearts for her parents.

A knock sounded on her closed office door and she called irritably for whoever was outside to enter, without bothering to look up from scribbling notes on the incident report laying open on her desk blotter. She was at the end of her shift, just trying to finish up her small mountain of paperwork before knocking off for the night, and this interruption was an unwelcome distraction.

"Clarke?" a tentative voice spoke up from the doorway.

She glanced up and forced a smile for the petite brunette nurse hovering shyly near the threshold of her office, not quite in, but not quite out either as if committing completely to either position was too much to handle. Maya, the sweet faced nurse currently interrupting her paperwork, was quiet and gentle, and seemed completely unsuited for a job full of criminals and killers, but that wasn't really any of Clarke's business so she never commented on it.

"Yes?" Clarke asked, trying not to sound as tired as she felt.

"I was just coming to tell you that there's a patient in exam room two," Maya said, glancing back into the hallway nervously.

"Dr. Jaha is seeing overnight patients, Maya," Clarke reminded her as gently as she could while her pulse pounded out a steady beat behind her eyelids. It was after lights out and no alarms had been sounded, so there couldn't have been another riot or orchestrated mass suicide attempt, which meant that Wells Jaha was more than capable of handling the situation by himself. Wells, her best friend and the head psychiatrist, doubled as the on call doctor on nights like tonight, when the prison medical ward was understaffed.

Despite being the Warden's son and from a very wealthy family like Clarke's, he was down to Earth and one of the most compassionate people she knew. It made him an ideal psychiatrist, especially in a place like this.

"I know, but it's one of the guards," Maya said nervously as Clarke's forehead creased into a frown.

"Guard or inmate, Dr. Jaha is still treating the overnight patients," she said more firmly, wishing Maya would take the hint and save her from being rude.

"It's Blake," Maya blurted out before backing out of the doorway and fleeing into the dimly lit hallway beyond.

"Of course it is," Clarke muttered bitterly, pushing away from her desk with a sigh. Blake, or more accurately, Captain Blake was second only to Assistant Warden Kane in the guard hierarchy, and was basically the bane of her existence. He was constantly barging into her office demanding that she treat his informants this way or that. Always making sure that his lackey guards got special treatment over everyone else and pretty much always acting like a jackass. On a logical level she understood that his carefully cultivated network of spies and informants kept people safe, but she felt that it was morally objectionable for someone to take advantage of an inmate's position inside the prison to gain information. The prisoners here had very little choice but to fold under his pressure and it put them in an incredibly dangerous position amongst their fellow inmates when they finally turned snitch. Not to mention that it was a risky gamble to believe anything that most of the them said. Half of the inmates suffered from undiagnosed mental conditions and couldn't reliably tell you what they had for breakfast let alone inform on someone and the other half would lie to you just for their own amusement.

Pushing those thoughts aside, she rose ponderously from her desk and headed after Maya. Clarke wasn't surprised that Captain Blake had asked for her specifically. He and Wells didn't exactly see eye to eye on anything, be it treatment plans or office politics, and they avoided each other at all costs. Clarke was positive that Captain Blake hated Wells for the simple crime of being born wealthy and the Warden's son and therefore privileged in his eyes, but she'd chosen not to get involved in their nearly constant battles for the sake of her own sanity.

When she rounded the nurses station and saw Maya studiously avoiding her eyes, she felt a pang of guilt for how abruptly she'd spoken to the girl. It wasn't like it was Maya's fault that Bellamy was such an asshole, but it was too late to take it back now. Maybe if Captain Blake was a little less arrogant people might actually get along with him, Clarke mused as she took her time shuffling clipboards with patient charts on them until she found the one for room two. Then again, maybe he wouldn't be. Narcissism was a really hard condition to treat.

A brief scan of the incident report informed her that Captain Blake had been injured while attempting to subdue a psyche inmate in his cell. Lacerations to the face and arms seemed to be the worst of it, she noted gladly. That would be a quick and easy fix and then she could go home.

No longer able to delay, she pushed into the depressingly gray exam room, and found the Captain hunched over himself on a dingy, utilitarian exam table. There were no encouraging pictures or memorable sayings on the walls. No paintings, or unlocked drawers full of supplies like you would find in most exam rooms either. Everything down to the last cotton swab was behind lock and key and subject to random and monthly inventory inspections. If everything else in the room didn't clue you in, the shackles attached to the exam table at roughly wrist and ankle level, left you crystal clear that you were in a prison, not your local doctors office.

Shaking her head to clear it, she took a deep breath and prepared herself for the undoubtedly unpleasant interactions they were about to have. Captain Blake looked up when she entered the room and straightened his spine, but waited till she closed the door firmly behind her to offer his usual mocking greeting.

"Princess," he said as a smirk stretched the tan skin around his mouth.

The nickname brought an immediate frown to Clarke's face, but she did her best to hide it quickly. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her rise to the bait, regardless of how much it irritated her. Starting a pointless argument with him now would only keep her in the room longer when all she really wanted to do was lock up her office and start the long drive back to her ranch house for a much overdue weekend off.

His prolonged stare, though uncomfortable, afforded her the perfect opportunity to asses the injuries to his face without actually having to examine him. There was a small cut above his left eyebrow that wouldn't require anything more than cleaning, and a his lip was puffy and split, but neither were serious. He probably could have treated himself, she thought irritably.

Striding purposefully toward the table, she grabbed a rolling tray already laden with utensils and slid it along with her. Maya must have already laid out everything she'd need for the job, she thought glancing quickly at the neatly stacked gauze and bandages and feeling her guilt resurface. The girl really did try hard to be pleasant to everyone and Clarke never gave her enough credit for it. She made a mental note to thank her later for preparing the tray and resolved to be more appreciative in the future.

Turning away from Captain Blake, she crossed to the sink to wash her hands and returned to the table as she snapped on a pair of gloves and used her foot to slide a rolling stool alongside him. He squinted when she flicked on the exam light above the them and angled it towards his face, but didn't voice a complaint as his pupils contracted under the harsh glare.

"Are these the worst of it?" she asked, taking his chin firmly between her fingers and turning it toward the light. His skin was warm beneath her gloves and she could feel his pulse through the thin material. She tried to ignore the sensation of it pounding against her finger tips while she waited for him to respond, battling the urge to drop her hand because she was positive he would perceive it as weakness.

"Aren't they enough?" he asked jokingly, but then frowned when she didn't so much as crack a smile. "This too Doc," he added, holding up his arm. There was a deep cut, about an inch and a half long, running vertically up his left arm. She hadn't noticed the gash or the blood seeping out of it at first, because the arm was partially hidden from her by his torso, but as soon as he held it up to the bright beam of light she dropped his chin and grabbed his hand pulling his arm closer to her face.

He hissed as she probed the edges of the wound, looking for debris before gently pinching it closed. "Well I'm afraid this one's going to need a few stitches," she said, already reaching for the syringe nestled neatly between stacks of gauze on the tray table beside her. "This will sting a little," she added, but didn't wait for a response before administering four shots to numb the entire area. Bedside manner be damned, it was late and he was an asshole so he didn't get the "it will only sting for a minute" spiel.

Bellamy didn't so much as grunt, but she could feel how tense the muscles in his arm were. "Lay it up here," she said sliding an empty, flat tray table from the corner underneath, and gently pressing his arm onto it. "There's not much I can do for the lip other than offer you an ice pack," she said brushing a finger over the swollen area that had already begun to scab over. "Lean down and I'll clean this one and bandage it while we wait on that local to take affect." He obediently bent his forehead toward her, and she had a few uncomfortable seconds of him staring directly into her chest, before his eyes drifted back up to her face.

Clarke always tried to dress professionally when she was at the prison. Some of the inmates hadn't been with a woman in more time than she'd been alive and tempting them to do something violent by flaunting her very womanly figure in their faces while she examined them, just seemed foolish, but there was only so much she could do short of wearing a potato sack to work every day. Even then, she was sure that someone would complain about the amount of ankle she was showing!

Today she had opted for a black pencil skirt and simple pearl blouse tucked into the wide waistband with her white lab coat thrown over it all, but judging by Bellamy's glances, it was still distracting. Or maybe he was just a pig. Honestly, she felt some days that the inmates had more class and better manners than he did.

As she began to inspect the shallow cut on his forehead, she tried her hardest to ignore the forwardness of his stare, focusing instead on swabbing the cut clean and applying antibiotic ointment. She finished it off with a large band-aid before pitching her soiled gloves in the garbage and sliding on a new pair.

"Hold still," she said calmly as she cleaned his arm and readied the suture needle. When she was certain the area was numb, she set to work closing the wound. Five precise, neat stitches later and the gash was nothing more than an angry red line. After slathering on a little antibiotic ointment, she applied a few pieces of gauze and wrapped it in flesh colored coban which still looked pale against his caramel colored forearm.

"All set," she said in a poor imitation of her usually cheerful farewell to a patient. He didn't speak, but she saw from the corner of her eye as she stood and walked to the sink, that he was probing his arm with his index finger like he was testing to see if it would hurt. He was a complete idiot. She was stripping off her gloves and had just turned on the water to wash her hands again when she felt him behind her. He had a stealthy way of moving that had probably served him well in the Navy, but mostly just created cause for her to have an early heart attack here in the prison.

"Thanks Princess," he said into her ear as he reached around her to grab a paper towel. Good to know his sleezeball charm had survived the attack.

It never failed to unsettle her, the way he invaded her personal space and probed every boundary he could find. In Clarke's opinion, he was sort of a creep. Always lurking around the infirmary when she had patients and barging into her exam rooms and office alike when the mood struck him.

"Excuse you," she bit out, moving to put space between them, unwilling to let him see how much his antics bothered her. Clarke knew guys like him pretty well, they'd been a dime a dozen all through medical school. Thinking that they could push her around and get her to back down just because she was a woman and therefore weak, emotional, and inferior in their eyes. Well, she'd proved them wrong after flat refusing to bow to their intimidation tactics and went on to graduate first in her class. If she hadn't let those pretentious assholes at Harvard win, she sure as hell wasn't going to let some narcissistic guard with a bad attitude and a chip on his shoulder push her around now!

Clark had never taken the time to read Captain Blake's file, but she was betting he had some pretty serious mommy issues. It would explain so much about his behavior not only with her, but with the slew of women that he was always bragging about being with. She may not have close relationships with most of her coworkers, but she did hear things and if even half the rumors were true, he was a real womanizer. Not that she believed most of the gossip. She'd grown up in the public eye thanks to her mother and their family name and she understood better than most just how much people liked to over inflate stories and flat out lie in order to fuel the gossip mill.

Blake backed off a little, allowing her space to round the exam table, but continued to hover behind her as she cleaned up the mess a little and threw the syringe into the bio-hazard bin on the wall. She almost bumped into his chest when she turned around to leave and an angry flush tinted her cheeks when he smirked down at her.

"How about that ice pack Princess?" he asked, taking an infinitesimal step closer to her.

She glared up at him as he loomed over her, clearly blocking her path to the cabinet with ice packs. A fact that she was positive that he was aware of, but his grin just broadened the longer she glared. After a few more seconds engaged in a childish staring contest, (probably to assert his dominance) he stepped back to let her pass. Briskly crossing the room, she used her key to open a supply drawer and pulled out a disposable ice pack. The package crunched in her hands as she angrily shook it to hasten the endothermic reaction before tossing it across the table at him and stalking out of the exam room. None of the nurses said a word as she stomped past their station, but she could feel their eyes on her back as she retreated from Captain Blake's deep, rumbling laughter.

Wells was waiting for her inside her office, and his eyebrows crept toward his hairline as she slammed the door, threw the incident report on top of the nearest stack of folders, and stalked around her desk, heels clicking angrily on the tile floor the entire way. He didn't say a word as she sat down hard in her chair and let out a deep sigh, rubbing her forehead ineffectually.

"Tough patient," Wells joked half heartedly. She managed a weak grin before letting her head fall into the pillow of her arms, face down on her desk, with a groan.

"I hate Bellamy Blake," she mumbled into the hard wood surface of her desk.

"Hate is such a strong word, Clarke," Wells said in his doctor voice. Without looking up she picked up a pencil and lobbed it across the desk at him. He laughed so she gave him the finger.

"Don't psycho analyze me right now Wells," she grumbled. "My mind is a dark and twisty place at the moment."

"Dark and twisty huh? Sounds about right for you," he joked, trying to bring her out of her funk and get her talking like he'd been doing ever since they were kids. Wells knew her better than anyone on the planet which meant he knew when it was time to joke, and lighten the mood or run for the hills because she was about to blow her top.

"It's full of all the different ways I could murder Blake," she said rising up to glare at the reports on her desk like they personally had ruined her day. His name stared up at her from the label of the top most report, fanning the flames of her anger. "Mostly I'd just like to strangle him," she said unintentionally crinkling the edges of the paper in her small hands as she picked it up.

"Better watch it," Wells said smiling. "I'd hate to have to treat you from the other side of this desk!"

"If only I knew a few Jedi mind tricks," she said imitating the Darth Vader choke hold. "Perfect crime," she added and giggled when Wells pretended to be choking. "You're such a nerd," she said smoothing the report back down on the blotter and trying to reign in her temper.

"Not as big as you are Darth," Wells snorted as he leaned forward in his seat. "You look tired Clarke. Are you sure you want to drive all the way out to the ranch tonight?"

Ever since she could remember, Wells had been worrying about her one way or another and tonight was no exception. She glanced at her wrist and noted that it was a little passed midnight. If she left right now and drove the speed limit, which she almost always did, she'd be there by about two o'clock.

"Maybe you should just stay at the loft and then drive home early in the morning after you've had some rest?" he said, frowning at her when she shook her head.

"I just want to go home Wells," she said tiredly as she shuffled papers into the appropriate piles. No matter how much she loved her apartment in the city, the farm felt like home. It was where she and Wells had spent most of the summers of their childhoods, swimming, riding horses and just running free through the rolling countryside. Her dad left it to her in his will and she'd moved in shortly after his death. In part it was to be closer to all the good memories with him, but also it was an excuse to get away from her mother. Their relationship hadn't been the same after the accident and she couldn't stand to look at her everyday after it happened. Clarke had never told her mother that she knew they'd been fighting when he left that night, or that she knew Abby had asked for a divorce, but it fundamentally changed how she viewed her mother from then on out. She'd never come right out and accused Abby of causing his accident, but she couldn't always hide her anger when they spoke. To say that their relationship now was rocky would be putting it lightly.

"It doesn't have anything to do with your big date tomorrow night does it?" Wells teased.

Clarke almost immediately regretted her decision to tell him about the new man in her life, but he was her best friend after all and they talked about everything. He'd been ribbing her for it ever since, calling Finn her sugar daddy because he happened to run a fortune 500 company and lived a fairly high profile life in the city. Clarke didn't follow those sorts of things having successfully escaped Society herself, and it was slightly unnerving that Wells seemed to know more about him than she did, but she wasn't going to let the teasing put her off the best man she'd dated in a very long time. Wells had filled her in on all the scandalous affairs that Finn had supposedly had and she'd responded by telling him he should know by now that the tabloids just liked to spin a good playboy millionaire gone wrong story without actually having any truth to their accusations. He still seemed skeptical, but he'd let the matter drop. Wells was good that way. Never pushing too far, but always ready to listen when things went wrong.

Finn, when they first met, had proved himself to be every inch a gentleman when she'd spilled her hot starbucks coffee all over his designer suit. She'd apologized profusely as he ordered his coffees to go and brushed off her offers to pay for the dry cleaning. He'd insisted that all he wanted was a chance to take her out to dinner and she'd been charmed enough to agree. They'd only been on a handful dates, but Clarke was pretty confident that he wasn't the creep that Wells' tabloid stories made him out to be and she couldn't wait to see him again. She and Finn had talked on the phone pretty much every day since that first encounter, but it had actually been really hard to coordinate dates between both of their schedules, so she was pretty excited about their little weekend get away. At first she'd been uneasy about spending the weekend alone with him at her family's isolated ranch house, but Finn's easy going attitude and natural charm had quickly put her at ease. She was really looking forward to showing him around all the places she loved on the property.

"I'm leaving now," she said ignoring his question and snatching her purse out of her desk. He followed her out into the hall and waited for her to lock the door behind them.

"Text me when you get there," he said as they walked side by side to the main guard booth in the medical wing of the prison. It was one of several stations positioned strategically throughout the building and she'd have to go through several more security stops to get to the parking lot, but Wells wouldn't be following her through so she turned to smile at him and say goodbye.

"Yes, sir," she said with a mock salute.

"And let me know all about how your big date with Finn goes," he called as she heard the buzzer and pushed her way through the heavy metal doors.

She turned to glare at him, and a flush rose in her cheeks when she noticed that the guards were staring curiously at her. Clarke spun on her heal and left as one of them started cat calling while another made kissing sounds over Wells' booming laughter, but not before she noticed Captain Blake standing in the rear of the guard booth glaring at her.

Not stopping to worry about what his problem was, she power walked the rest of the way through the building and out to her dark green prius. She pulled onto the interstate a few moments later and felt her muscles relax more and more with every mile that she put between her and TonDC. With her window rolled down blasting cool night air in her face to keep her awake, Clarke turned up the radio and sang along with sappy country songs as she made her way back home.

Two hours later she coasted into the circular drive not bothering to park in the garage like she usually did. Indra, her chef and property manager had left the porch lights on for her and the door was unlocked, but she tried to be as quiet as possible when she entered the house so she didn't wake her up.

Tiptoeing upstairs with a yawn, she slid into her bedroom, the same one she'd had since childhood and kicked off her shoes before gently closing the door behind her. The room may have been the same, but gone was the pink canopy bed that had made her feel like a princess when she was little as well as the spindly white children's furniture all of which had been moved into the attic storage. The girlish furnishings had been replaced by a dark oak sleigh bed and matching furniture. The childish, cotton candy pink and pearl walls had been redone in darker, more mature shades of azure that complimented both the upholstery and bedding. It was a tranquil room, with two book shelves brimming with Clarke's personal library and even had a picturesque window seat for lazy days getting lost between the pages of a good book.

She loved this room and she'd chosen to stay even after moving into the house as an adult because she could hardly stand to go into the master suite. Even after all these years her father's presence was still too strong. Memories of rushing into her parents bedroom to wake them on Christmas morning, or climbing under the blankets when she'd had a nightmare so her dad could sing her to sleep again, were so firmly ingrained in that room that she could almost smell his cologne when she stepped inside. The cleaners kept it dust free without disturbing anything, a condition she was very firm on, so his clothes were still hanging in the closet, his toothbrush was still on the sink, and his reading glasses were still sitting on top of the last novel he'd ever started reading, which lay closed on the nightstand on his side of the bed. Clarke knew she should pack everything up and donate it, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it. Especially not after her mother had remodeled their entire town house in the city so that if you hadn't known better, you'd never have suspected that Jake Griffin ever lived there. This house and those rooms were the last little piece of him she had left, and she just couldn't give it up. If she closed her eyes she could almost forget that he would never walk through the door and call out her name again. Almost.

Her clothes formed a messy pile on the floor at the foot of the bed as she slipped into a comfortable nightgown. After quickly brushing her teeth and washing her face in the adjoining bathroom, she climbed under the covers and was almost asleep when she remembered that she still needed to text Wells and let him know that she made it. Thankfully, she had left her phone on the nightstand, so without opening her eyes she reached for it and then quickly typed out a message. She pressed send, but was fast asleep before Wells had time to send a reply.

The next morning Clarke awoke to the smell of coffee and bacon floating up from the kitchen. With a groan, she rolled out of the bed and padded downstairs, slipping on her robe as she went.

"Good morning Indra," she said pulling the older woman into a tight hug and laying a quick kiss on her cocoa colored cheek. "This smells delicious!"

"Good morning, Clarke," Indra said with a smile. "What time did you get in? Did you sleep well?" she asked, turning back to her cooking.

"It was late. After two o'clock," Clarke said sheepishly and quickly went to poor herself a cup of coffee when she caught Indra's glare.

"You know better than to be driving so late at night when your tired, Clarke!" the older woman said sternly. She jabbed her spatula angrily into a skillet full of scrambled eggs as Clarke took a seat at the island behind her trying her hardest to look apologetic.

"I know, I shouldn't have, but I just couldn't wait to get home," Clarke said giving Indra wide innocent eyes when she turned around to glare at her. Indra was an award winning chef, and one of the few employees that her mother insisted be full time because Abigail Griffin didn't have time to prepare meals for her family, but she also wouldn't let them live off fast food either. Something about it being unethical as a doctor.

Indra had been with them for years and Clarke couldn't remember a time when she hadn't been around. After her father died, Indra had agreed to leave Abby's service and come live at the ranch with Clarke. Her mother may have been hurt over her longtime chef's abrupt departure, but honestly it was hard to tell. Her mother rarely showed any emotion other than annoyance and that was only when she had time to bother being annoyed with you. Being the Chief of Medicine was an important and time consuming position, that had often left Clarke short a parent growing up.

When her father was out of town for work or unable to watch her, it was most often Indra that she'd been left with and over time she'd come to be so much more to Clarke than an employee. When she was little girl the complicated relationship between her parents had very often left her feeling alone, so she would seek out the only other person in the house, and sit for hours watching her fix meals and talking about anything and everything her young mind could think up.

Over time, the routine had been set and she'd relied on that stability to get her through tough times. When she was upset or things were hard and she needed motherly advice, her own mother was almost never there or too busy to be bother so it had been Indra she'd run to when she scraped her knees. It was Indra who'd held her while she cried over her first break up. And it was Indra that Clarke was still afraid of crossing, even though she was a very much an adult.

Lucky for Clarke, Indra had a heart of pure gold underneath all of her gruff posturing so a lonely little girl had grown up with a friend and under that steady mentoring, Clarke had flourished.

"Well it's good to have you home. It's been too long," Indra said smiling sadly at her. Neither of them spoke of her father, but his memory hung in the air between them anyway. Jake had always considered this their real home too. The townhouse in the city was just a place they went when they wanted to actually see her mother and it struck Clarke that it was now just as much her home with Indra as it was with her father. Over the years they'd made their own memories here together that were separate from those she stored away of her and father's time here.

Growing up, Indra had seemed to always be around, but she actually maintained her own apartment in the city and only traveled back and forth with them to the ranch when needed. It was an independence that Indra had given up when she'd agreed to leave Abby and come with Clarke. Technically there was a guest house on the property that Indra would have been more than welcome to use, but neither women felt it was necessary. Indra was family and family lived in the room next you, not a mile down the drive in miniature version of the main house.

It made Clarke feel bad to realize how lonely Indra must be out here in the middle of nowhere by herself all the time. There was a farmer a few miles away that came every day to take care of the few horses that stayed on the property, but other than him and the cleaning service that came several times a week, it was pretty lonely out here. For Clarke, the isolation was blissful, but at fifty three, with no close family left, she wondered if Indra felt the same way.

As she sat at the island and sipped her coffee, Clarke thought about ways to fix the problem. She could hire a full time maid, but she was afraid that it might make Indra feel put out. Maybe she needed to find a full time gardener or animal trainer to move in, she mused, inhaling the rich French roast with a sigh. A trainer might actually work out to everyone's benefit. It would mean that someone was always on hand to help Indra with the heavy lifting and someone would be here to really work with the horses everyday. It always made her guilty knowing how little time she spent with them. She'd have to think on it and then run it by Indra before she started looking for someone too seriously.

"What do you have planned for today?" Indra asked setting a steaming plate full of food on the island in front of Clarke before making a plate for herself.

"I'm actually going to be inviting a guest over for the weekend," Clarke said around a mouthful of eggs.

"A guest?" Indra inquired politely, but with a slight edge. Clarke knew that while she didn't necessarily approve, Indra would never actually say anything against it. She was conservative in her views on dating, but not so much that she'd throw a fit about it.

"Yes, his name is Finn," Clarke said noncommittally. "I'm sure you'll love him. I thought we'd take the horses out later today. He was an award winning polo player in college," she added, digging into her food.

"Really now," Indra said with a forced smile. She never had thought anyone was good enough for Clarke. Her unending loyalty was as charming as it was sometimes irritating, Clarke thought with a sigh.

"Yes. He's tall and has chestnut colored hair about down to here," she said brushing her hands just above her shoulders. "His eyes are brown, but sort of like honey and he has a movie star smile," she said, flashing her own. "I know you'll love him! He's really just the sweetest person," Clarke gushed in a totally un-Clarke like way.

"Sounds like quite a young man," Indra said, eyes sparking merrily behind her glasses. "It's about time you got back in the saddle," she added with a wink.

Clarke wasn't sure if she meant dating or literally getting back in the saddle, so she just smiled, a little embarrassed at her own enthusiasm. Their conversations had gotten more mature as Clarke aged and it was nothing unusual for Indra to pepper their discussions with innuendo probably for the express purpose of making Clarke blush. Glancing at the clock, she jumped up in shock. She'd slept passed ten! It was nearly unheard of for Clarke to sleep in and now she would have to rush to get ready before Finn showed up.

"I've got to get ready!" she exclaimed racing out of the kitchen and leaving a half eaten plate of food behind. "Finn is going to be here any minute!" she yelled as Indra hollered for her to come back and finish her breakfast.

Clarke flew up the stairs and took possibly the quickest shower of her life. Fifteen minutes later, she was blow drying her hair when she heard the door bell. "Shit!" she said out loud, rushing into her walk in closet to try to find something to wear. She quickly settled on a pair of gray leggings with a gauzy, mauve, sleeveless summer dress that was cinched at the waist with a wide black belt and flowed out around her hips becomingly. She slipped her feet into a pair of knee high boots that would be great for riding later and decided to just leave her hair in a messy tumble of curls.

After a quick coat of mascara and a dab of pink lip gloss, she bounded down the stairs and headed for the living room where she could hear Finn's voice.

"There she is," he said standing as she came into the room. He kissed her cheek as she took a seat beside him on the loveseat, across from Indra. "You look beautiful," he said softly into her ear.

Clarke could feel her cheeks heating up as his breath ghosted across her skin. It had definitely been too long since her last relationship, she thought as she tried to silence her jittery nerves. "You look pretty good yourself," she said trying not to stare. He was wearing freshly pressed dark blue jeans with a light blue button down shirt rolled up his forearms, that made his skin look even more tan than it already was. His eyes sparkled in the late morning sunlight as he turned to smile at her.

"So, gorgeous," he asked grinning wider still, "what's on the agenda for today?"

"Oh, how rude of me," she said jumping to her feet. "Let me show you too your room so you can get settled!"

Taking his hand, she waved a quick goodbye to Indra and then pulled him upstairs behind her, stopping briefly so he could collect his bag from the entryway. She led him to a guest bedroom directly across the hall from hers and ushered him inside. No sooner had he entered the room than he jerked her arm, spinning her around and sweeping her into a tight embrace. His lips found hers and he swallowed her gasp as he devoured the tender flesh of her mouth.

Her heart was beating frantically inside her chest as he backed her further into the room and kicked the door shut with his foot, never breaking the kiss. His lips were warm and wet as they ghosted over her jaw and down her throat, pulling a soft moan from her. She could feel him smile into her collar bone as he left a trail of fire across her skin.

"Shouldn't we, slow down a little," Clarke said breathlessly as his hand crept up under her dress to run along the strip of flesh above her leggings.

"Why should we?" he whispered into her ear as he nipped at the lobe and his hands continued to explore her curves.

"It's in the middle of the morning and Indra might hear us," Clarke pointed out with a giggle.

Finn chuckled and let his hands fall away with a sigh. "Alright, alright," he said with one last kiss to the tip of her nose. "You just look so damn good in that dress," he added pinching her bottom.

Clarke squealed and swatted his hand away. She was a little surprised at his forwardness, they'd only shared a few tame kisses on their dates, but found that she didn't really mind at all. Honestly, she was almost as eager as he was, but she was just too shy to have day sex when she knew that Indra was running around the house and would likely hear everything!

After Finn unpacked his small bag she led him outside and they spent the rest of the day exploring the grounds and riding her favorite horses. Finn was attentive and charming, and by dinner time, Clarke was convinced he was the only man for her. Indra had been casting serious looks at her all day, but she'd steadfastly ignored them all. It wasn't hard to tell that she wanted a moment alone to talk, but Clarke didn't want to spoil the day by listening to yet another lecture on guarding your heart. Indra's husband left her for another woman and she'd never quite gotten over it so her talks about love tended to be… rather practical to put it nicely, and Clarke was feeling anything but practical at the moment. If Finn had asked her to elope to Vegas right then she might actually have consider it.

His light laugh and the butterflies dancing around in her stomach as they took their seats at the dinner table, were all the indication she needed that this was good and right. Clarke had no intentions of ruining it by pulling her head out of the clouds any time soon. She'd already spent far too much time being grounded and practical.

"That was delicious," Finn said sitting back from the table with a content sigh. He'd obliterated a steak, seasoned to perfection and topped with blue cheese, along with a large helping of mashed potatoes, with brown gravy and a small serving of collard greens. The meal was a little heavy for Clarke's taste, but Indra was from the south and it often showed in her cooking. Indra stepped into the room to take away their plates, and Finn voiced his compliments to her as well.

Indra said all the appropriate words, but her smile never quite reached her eyes and Clarke frowned. It wasn't like Indra to brush off compliments about her cooking, and Finn was being so sweet! Thankfully, he didn't seem to notice Indra's frigid attitude so Clarke didn't say anything that would draw more attention to it, but she resolved that they would in fact have to have that talk sooner rather than later.

"Let's go upstairs and watch a movie or something," Clarke said quickly before the tension got awkward enough for Finn to notice.

"Sounds great," Finn said sliding away from the table, oblivious. "I've just got to go out to my car first and grab something," he said with a smile.

"Okay, I'll meet you in my sitting room." He smiled in response and hurried out the door.

As soon as he was out of sight, Clarke fled the dining room before Indra could start in about whatever was bothering her. There would be plenty of time to talk to tomorrow. For tonight, she just wanted everything to be perfect even if that did sound juvenile and silly.

When she got to her room she turned off the lights and lit a few candles, hoping that it wasn't too cheesy and obvious. She slipped off her boots and curled up on the couch, opening her netflix queue while she waited for Finn. He came in a few moments later and smiled at the candles, strategically placed around the room for the most flattering light.

"It's cozy in here," he said dropping onto the couch and pulling her legs across his lap.

"Did you get everything you needed," she asked trying to hide the flush in her cheeks with a pillow.

"Oh, uh, yeah," he said looking uneasy. " I just needed to get my cell phone charger," he said picking up the remote and searching through her queue.

He was acting strangely, and she could have sworn that she saw him plug his charger into the wall earlier today when they'd come in for tea, but it must have been something else. He was probably just nervous, she thought smiling at his profile. It was so cute to see him get as flustered as she was.

"So," Finn said into the silence, "Texas Chainsaw Massacre, huh?" He looked mildly disgusted when he turned to stare at her.

Her eyes snapped back to the screen and she flushed furiously as she remembered the dozens of horror flicks she'd lined up to watch the next time she was home. Clearly Finn didn't share her interest in campy cult classics like Night of the Living Dead or Army of Darkness.

"Yeah, tonight doesn't seem like the kind of night to talk about boomsticks," she said lightly trying to play it off as a joke. Finn's eyebrows wrinkled in confusion and she coughed to hide her embarrassment. No one got her references the way Wells did, and it would be good for her to remember that the next time she opened her big mouth!

"Why don't you pick?" she said awkwardly as he continued to stare at her.

Finn glanced back at the TV and started flicking through the categories. He stopped on Fifty Shades of Grey and turned to her grinning. "How about a little romance?" he asked sliding his hand up her leg along the tops of her thighs. Her breath caught in her throat and he his grin broadened into something wicked.

"That's fine," she choked out and he laughed, but his hand stilled just before his thumb brushed anything important.

He took his hand away to start the movie and she groaned inwardly as the opening scene began. An unrealistic portrayal of a brain dead college girl's introduction to BDSM was not exactly her idea of a romance movie, but she wasn't about to tell Finn that! The Texas Chainsaw Massacre would be more likely to put her in the mood than this crap, but she wasn't going to tell him that either. Sighing, she settled back onto the cushions, resigning the next two hours of her life to time that she'd never get back.

After an hour of actively trying not to beat her face against the coffee table, Clarke was ready to do just about anything, but sit through the movie. Finn on the other hand was clearly feeling quite different. As she looked over at his profile she noticed that his breathing had changed and his lips were slightly parted. She could feel his erection when he unconsciously clutched her legs, pressing them into his lap. He must have felt her stare, because he turned to face her and the heat in his eyes took her breath away.

"Clarke," he said softly and reached for her. She leaned into his arms eagerly enough and he crashed his lips into hers. Finn wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her onto his lap. Her legs straddled his as he pulled her down hard and she gasped into his lips. Quickly responding to his excitement, she began wantonly grinding against him. "Yeah baby, that's it," he whispered into her ear urging her to ride him harder.

She needed no further encouragement as she kissed him fiercely and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. Every inch of skin she exposed was lavished with kisses and Finn let his head roll back on the couch as she worked her way down. By the time she reached the waist band of his jeans, she'd slid off his lap and was kneeling on the floor. She stopped and looked up to meet his eyes before going any further.

"Don't stop now," Finn said with a smirk.

Clarke popped the button on his jeans and he helped her slide them down his legs. When he settled back onto the couch again, she took a moment to drink in the sight of him. He was short but thick and she could see tiny droplets of moisture forming as she stroked him. His eyelids drooped as she moved forward, licking the tip teasingly before sliding her lips over his velvety flesh.

His fingers pulled at her hair as she moved her mouth over him and he let out a deep moan. Clarke grinned around him, enjoying how much he was enjoying it when suddenly he jerked her head hard, forcing himself as far inside her mouth as he could go and she nearly gagged. When she looked up the length of his torso reproachfully, she noticed that he wasn't looking at her, but instead he was watching the movie play behind her. He pulled her hair back hard enough to make her eyes water and then forced her forward again with both hands in her hair.

"Finn!" she choked, jerking violently out of his reach. His eyes flew to hers and he immediately started apologizing.

"Shit, Clarke! I'm so sorry. It was this stupid movie, I got carried away," he said sliding down on the floor beside her and taking her into his arms.

She remained stiff against him as he stroked her back and placed warm, light kisses in hair. Rough oral sex wasn't really her thing, and she was a little put out that he would try something like that without asking if she'd like it. After a while, she loosened up and pulled back far enough to stare into the liquid honey of his eyes. He did look very sorry. "It's okay, Finn," she said with a half hearted smile. "Just, not so rough okay?"

"Of course, Clarke, I'm so sorry!" he exclaimed, taking her face in his hands and placing a gentle kiss on her lips. He stood, and reached for the remote, flicking off the TV before reaching down to pull her up and tugging her into a hug.

"I feel a little over dressed," she said jokingly to lighten the mood. Finn smiled and made quick work of stripping her. He knelt as he peeled the leggings down her legs, placing light, sweet kisses from the tops of her thighs all the way down to the tips of her toes. She giggled as he sucked a toe into his mouth before she could pull it away. Throwing a flirtatious grin over her shoulder, she ran for the doorway leading to her bedroom in nothing but her bra and panties.

Finn caught up with her and tackled her onto the bed where they rolled around playfully until he had her pinned firmly beneath him. All playful teasing was pushed aside under a wash of tender attention. He caressed her body with his hands and tongue until she was moaning and quivering and only then did he take her. Their love making was gentle and unhurried and while Clarke never reached the heights she craved, it was sweet and special all the same.

When Finn was finished he lay on top of her panting for a few moments before rolling away to catch his breath. The cool air washed over her skin and she shivered, rolling onto her side to curl against him. He smiled down at her, but after a moment he gently disentangled himself, sitting up on the edge of the bed with his back to her.

The euphoric bubble she'd been floating in burst, and suddenly she felt very exposed where she lay naked on top of the covers, confused by his abrupt departure. Clarke reached for the blankets, pulling them up to her chin as she watched him climb off the bed and stretch. His back was to her as he started to pick up fallen clothing, pulling it on as he went.

"That was great babe," he said turning back to the bed to drop a quick kiss on her forehead. "I'm just going to head back to my room and shower," he added as he headed for the door.

"Are you coming back?" She hated herself for asking, but she couldn't quite stop the words from leaving her mouth.

"Actually," he said avoiding her eyes and rubbing the back of his neck, "I think I'll probably just hit the sack afterward. I would hate to keep you up with my snoring. You understand right?" he asked smiling sheepishly at her.

"Of course," she mumbled, trying to keep the sadness and rejection out of her voice.

"Great! I'll see you in the morning," he called as he pulled the door open and stepped quickly out of the room.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she climbed out of the bed in search of a night gown. After slipping into it and a fresh pair of panties, she blew out the candles and climbed back into bed, grabbing her cell phone off the nightstand before burrowing deep beneath the blankets. There was only one person on the planet that she wanted to talk to right now.

She dialed Wells' number, but he didn't answer. She realized that he was probably still at work, so instead she dialed the direct line to the infirmary, hoping that one of the nurses would answer.

"Infirmary," a familiar baritone grumbled down the line.

Her breath caught in her throat and her brain stopped functioning in a moment of panic as she recognized the voice. Of all the people to answer the damn phone it had to be Bellamy! That was just how her luck went.

"Hello," he said irritably.

"Bellamy," she squeaked and then cleared her throat before continuing. "I'm sorry, I mean hello Captain Blake. I was trying to reach Wells, uh… Dr. Jaha, I mean," she stammered, hoping that he couldn't hear the tears in her voice and trying frantically to get herself under control.

"Clarke?" he asked surprised.

"Yes, I'm sorry to bother you, but I really need to speak with Dr. Jaha," The tears were slowly falling now and she desperately wanted to hear Wells's soothing voice telling her this was normal and it wasn't a rejection. That Finn really did just prefer to sleep alone and that it was totally normal so that she could stop herself from falling apart.

"Jaha isn't here tonight, Dr. Griffin," Bellamy said, recovering from his surprise.

"Oh… he isn't?" she asked confused.

"No, he started his vacation today," he said slowly, like she might be too stupid to understand otherwise.

Of course! In all of her excitement to get to the ranch and start her weekend with Finn, she'd completely forgotten that Wells was leaving for Paris with his girlfriend. She felt incredibly selfish when she realized that she hadn't bothered to wish him a good trip before she left, too caught up in her personal happiness to remember his. Glancing at the alarm clock on the nightstand, she noted that it was well passed midnight. Wells was probably already halfway across the Atlantic by now. Bellamy cleared his throat and Clarke realized that she'd been silent for a long time.

"Yes, of course he is," she said quickly. "I'm sorry it just slipped my mind." She laughed unconvincingly, but Bellamy remained silent. "Look I'm so sorry to bother you. Thank you for your help." Her finger was poised to end the call, but Bellamy spoke before she could break the connection.

"Clarke… is everything okay?" he asked gruffly. There was something in his voice. It sounded strangely like concern and she was almost more confused by that, than by anything else that had happened tonight.

"Of course! Everything is fine," she said squeezing her eyes shut to stop the flow of tears, but ruined it by sniffling. Damn her traitorous emotions!

"Did that asshole do something?" His voice was low and angry as he spoke and it sounded a lot more like his usual demeanor.

Clarke was briefly confused by the question after all, she hadn't shared anything about her personal life with him, but then the image of Bellamy frowning at her last night as she left the hospital flashed into her head. Did he know Finn? She didn't hesitate long before answering, but it was long enough for him to repeat his question, a little more threateningly than the first time.

"No of course not!" Clarke insisted. Swiping a hand across her cheeks, she cleared her throat and tried to sound more forceful to discourage any more questions. "Thank you for your help Captain Blake. Have a good night."

"Clarke," he said again, but she ended the call before he could finish what he had been about to say.

She wasn't sure what to make of his interest in her well being, or his familiarity with Finn, but she wasn't about to have a conversation with him about any of this. The amount of gossip that would be swirling around work Monday over just this brief exchange made her cringe. There was no way she was adding fuel to that fire! Maybe he'd be a gentleman and stay quiet about it. Fat chance, she thought with a sigh as she settled back down into her pillows.

After selecting her "sleep" playlist and docking her phone, she wrapped herself back up in her blankets and tried unsuccessfully to fall asleep quickly. Her brain had other plans, however, and she was forced to replay the days events over and over again even into her dreams, where her subconscious changed and warped everything into nightmares that interrupted her fitful sleep long into the night.

The next morning she woke to the sounds of laughter from downstairs. She hauled herself out of bed feeling tired and headed straight for the shower, not caring if anyone was waiting on her. When she'd scrubbed herself clean and put on a cute cotton dress her mother had bought her last summer, she felt well enough to venture downstairs. Finn was sitting in the kitchen joking with one of the cleaners, a pretty young woman with a sweet smile, while Indra cooked breakfast with a frown turning down the corners of her mouth.

"Clarke!" Finn exclaimed, sliding off the stool to meet her. "You look beautiful. Did you sleep well?"

She nodded her head and smiled weakly at him while the girl, who's name she couldn't quite remember, scurried out of the room. "Still a little sleepy," she admitted when she caught Indra's sharp stare.

"You'll have that," Finn said playfully, giving her a knowing wink.

As they ate stuffed French toast and drank an entire pot of coffee, Clarke began to feel a little foolish. Finn was acting so happy and carefree and just so, well… normal that she began to question everything she'd worried over last night. Her mood lightened and soon he had her laughing and smiling along with him as he regaled them all with stories of his early career blunders and more recent public faux pas. Even Indra was smiling a little by the time he was finished and Clarke felt a million times better.

"Why don't we go for a walk?" he asked sweetly after they'd cleared their plates, plopping a kiss on her cheek with a smile.

Clarke nodded and rose. He linked his hand with hers as they left the house and her feet found a familiar path into the forest surrounding the ranch. She and her father used to walk this path all the way to the pond to go swimming when she was a girl. The memory made her smile and she started to share it with Finn before she even realized what she was doing. It wasn't like her to share personal bits of her life with people, but somehow with Finn it just felt right. She found herself wanting him to know her past, to divulge secrets that she normally kept under lock and key and she wished more than anything that her dad was here to meet him.

"My father and I used to walk this way to go swimming," she said smiling up at him as she remembered hot summer days of years past. He returned the smile, indulgently, but seemed distracted and she felt a little foolish all of a sudden, wondering how much of her conversation he'd actually been listening to in the last ten minutes.

Clarke heard his phone buzz in his pocket, and frowned, but he ignored it so she tried to do the same.

"That's nice. I hope I get to meet him. Does he live in the city?" Finn seemed totally oblivious to the pain in her eyes as she shook her head and walked ahead of him. How was it possible that he didn't know about her dad. Hadn't she talked about it before, even a little. It wasn't like she'd given him the specifics or cried on his shoulder, but she was pretty positive that she'd at least mentioned by now that he was gone.

"No, my father, he uh… he died a few years ago," she said quietly, continuing to walk when he stopped and combing her mind for something to say to make this less painful for her and awkward for him.

"Oh, wow Clarke, I'm sorry," Finn said catching up with her. "Well, I'm sure he was great, having a daughter like you!"

"He was," she said with a soft smile that didn't quite make it to her eyes. "He used to bring us here all the time to unwind from…" Clarke broke off as his phone buzzed again.

"Yeah," Finn said distractedly. "This is a nice place to visit."

"My mother didn't really like…"

"Listen, Clarke," Finn interrupted. "I'm going to have to head back early. I didn't want to tell you over breakfast because we were having such a good time, but something has come up and I need to head back into the city tonight."

Clarke tried not to let her face fall at the news. She was hoping that they'd be able to spend another night here before they had to go back to the real world, but she didn't want to seem clingy or needy. "Of course," she said quickly to mask her disappointment.

"We'll come back again soon. I promise," he said with a bright smile as he turned them around and headed back to the house at a brisk walk that she struggled to keep up with. When they got back, Indra looked at them curiously, but Finn brushed by her, taking the stairs two at a time while Clarke lingered in the entryway.

"What's going on, Clarke," Indra asked curiously, but before Clarke could answer, Finn reappeared at the top of the stairs, with a his bag in hand. He must have packed it before he came downstairs this morning.

"Somethings come up and I'm afraid I have to leave," he said smiling brightly in answer to Indra's question. She merely frowned at him and then glanced over at Clarke's forced smile.

Finn bounded down the stairs, pulled Indra into a light hug, and then dropped a quick kiss on the top of Clarke's head. "I will call you," he said sweeping passed them both.

Clarke followed him out the door and watched him stride down the steps into his waiting car. He tossed the bag into the back and then climbed the steps again to pull her into a warm kiss. His mouth melted across hers, but try as she might, she couldn't relax in his arms and soon enough he broke away with a fleeting, curious glance in her direction.

"I almost forgot to do that," he said as they broke apart. "Goodbye Clarke," he said smiling and releasing her.

"Bye," she said forcing a smile to curve her lips. For some reason she couldn't help but feel like this was a permanent farewell. It was silly, but sometimes she just got feelings that something bad was going to happen. She shook her head, trying to clear out the maudlin thoughts and waved as he climbed in his car and pulled out of the drive, honking his horn as he sped out of sight.

"Clarke," Indra called from the doorway, but Clarke was in no mood to talk. Instead she waved to Indra and jogged down the steps two at a time. She headed straight for their recently abandoned path and walked until her calves burned and the sun had fallen below the tree line, trying desperately to sort out her thoughts and control her stormy emotions.

When she got back to the house, Indra was in the living room waiting for her. It was futile to try to sneak around Indra when she'd set her mind on talking to you and Clarke simply didn't have the energy for it after the day she'd had. Putting off the conversation wouldn't make it any better so she decided to just get it over with. She sucked in a deep breath, puffing her chest out and exhaling slowly before she made her way into the room. The lamp beside Indra was switched on, and she was reading when Clarke walked in, but she quickly put the book down when she saw Clarke standing in the doorway.

"Hey," Clarke said quietly, sitting down on the couch next to her and fiddling with the hem of her dress.

"He's wrong for you Clarke," Indra said firmly. Of course Indra would get right to it. She'd never been one to mince words when she had something on her mind a "flaw" that had always irked her mother. "He may be a nice boy, but he's wrong for you. I'm afraid for you, ladybug," Indra said as she stroked a comforting hand down Clarke's back. The childhood nickname tugged a smile from Clarke's lips, but she just nodded into her lap without speaking. "Now," Indra said sitting back and looking into Clarke's face, "Would you like to have a little dinner before you head back into the city?"

Clarke was surprised that Indra didn't say more about Finn, but not surprised at all that she had known that Clarke would leave tonight regardless of how late it was. She'd known Clarke all her life and could read her moods almost as well as Wells so she knew when Clarke needed to run and tonight was one of those nights. "I'll eat first," she said with a smile as Indra pulled her to her feet and led her into the kitchen where she had a plate already made up.

Clarke ate quickly, without speaking and then thanked Indra and then headed upstairs to gather the few things she'd be taking back with her. Most of it would stay here as she had doubles of it in her apartment, but some things, like her cell phone and makeup bag traveled back and forth with her.

She'd missed a call from Wells while she was out, but the number wasn't from his cell phone and she wasn't sure if she should call it back so instead she sighed and tucked the phone into her pocket. When she was finished, she met Indra in the entryway and received a fierce hug.

"See you soon," Indra said pulling away. They both knew it might be a few weeks, or even a month before Clarke got the chance to come back, but Indra always had the same farewell regardless.

Clarke nodded and hugged her again. "You take care of yourself while I'm gone."

"Don't worry about me," Indra said laughing and pushing her out the door. "Drive carefully," she called as Clarke hopped in her car and waved goodbye. Indra was still standing on the porch waving as Clarke rounded the final curve in the drive and the house disappeared from sight.

The drive seemed much longer on the way back. Perhaps it was just her body dreading the return to work and the hustle and bustle of the city. With no Wells waiting there to lift her spirits and an almost definite awkward interrogation from Bellamy awaiting her, she was really in no hurry to get back. But Clarke wasn't one to shirk her responsibilities, so she just turned up the radio and headed back to face the music.


	2. Finn is Finished

Monday morning found Clarke heading into work with the largest coffee money could buy and a dark pair of sunglasses to hide the purple smudges under her eyes. She'd barely gotten any sleep the night before after her long drive back to the apartment and a tiny part of her had wanted to call in today, but that would put another doctor on the spot to replace her so she'd sucked it up, tried her best to make herself presentable and then headed outside the city to TonDC.

The parking lot was full when Clarke arrived and she was irritated to find a large black pick up truck parked in her reserved space. It took three more trips around the lot before she was able to squeeze into a space right next to the dumpsters. So far this day was starting off great. By the time she'd trekked the long length of the parking lot to get to the prison's main entrance, she was in a truly foul mood. When she reached the doors, Clarke glared a guard, who was talking on his cell phone and smoking a cigarette, out of her way before pushing the door open with her hip.

"Good morning, Dr. Griffin," the perky new receptionist called out as she entered.

"Morning," Clarke grumbled. The girl's face fell and Clarke hastily plastered on a smile to try to make up for her rudeness. No since in letting her dark mood rain all over someone else's day. "How are you today?" she forced out as the girl's smile resurfaced. Small talk saves the day again, she thought as she tried to stop her eyes from rolling. Some people were just too damn happy for a Monday morning Clarke decided as she slung her keys and cell phone into the bin by the body scanner.

She didn't wait for a response as she slipped through the scanner and let the burly guard on the other slide his wand up and down her sides and legs. He smiled after her as she fled with her keys and her coffee before the perky receptionist could start in again about how nice the day was supposed to be. The inmates were up and at breakfast as she passed the men's cafeteria on her way to the infirmary. None of them paid her any particular attention and she didn't stop to talk to anyone like she might have normally. There were a few familiar faces here and there and at least one patient that she wanted to follow up with, but the guards tended to frown on her interacting with the inmates anywhere outside of medical. They could laugh and joke and bullshit with them all day long, but the second she stopped to say anything, one of them would be there, lurking behind her and trying to push her along.

Generally speaking she didn't usually work this cell block unless there was an emergency, although it wasn't unheard of for her be called in for special cases. This was where some of their most dangerous inmates were housed and due to the high number of physical attacks on staff, the guards frowned on you just popping by for no reason. Something about her presence just creating another distraction from the people they were actually supposed to be keeping an eye on, whatever that meant. She suspected that Captain Blake put them up to it and it irritated her to no end.

Clarke was of the firm opinion that "monsters" were not born but made and it seemed inhuman to treat the inmates, even the violent ones, like they were numbers on a chart, not worthy of being acknowledged or spoken too like human beings. But, she wasn't up to an argument this morning, so she nodded as she passed the guards perch and walked briskly through the hallways leading to the locked doors of the infirmary without so much as turning her head to the side. She could see the on duty guard through the glass panel of the heavy metal door, but it took him a moment to notice her. Good thing there wasn't an emergency, she thought frowning as he jumped up to buzz her through.

The door swung open and she was immediately greeted with the smell of pine sol and bleach. It burned her nostrils as she crossed the main intersection and hung a left toward her office. The infirmary was positioned in the far rear of the prison, farthest from inmate dormitories and almost directly between the male and female halves of the building. They had separate exam rooms for each side to minimize the interactions between inmates of the opposite sex, but there was no way to keep them entirely segregated short of building two separate facilities and that wasn't going to happen on their current budget, so only patients with consistently good behavior were assigned to work duty here. It must have been one of them that had mopped recently, she thought eying the empty mop bucket outside of a locked supply closet.

Her office was on the women's side of the wing, although she treated both sides, and she was grateful for it almost every day. The guards on the women's side were always more laid back and friendly, easy to laugh and always cracking jokes, unlike the ones guarding the men. It wasn't really that the female inmates were any less dangerous. They were in for the same or similar crimes, this was a maximum security facility after all, but it seemed that there were fewer violent incidents in the women's wing and Clarke assumed that, that was why the women's guards were more easy going. It was a lot easier to be happy at work when you didn't have to constantly deal with fights and power plays.

Clarke unlocked her office and slipped inside without incident. The smell of her favorite jelly bean wax warmer lingered in the air as she settled into her plush leather chair and she switched it on to try to combat the antiseptic smell of the hallway. She wondered what happened this morning that someone had been in so early to mop. One of the inmates had probably urinated on the floor or threw up on purpose again, she thought wrinkling her nose. There were definite down sides to this job.

An hour later, she was stretched over an open filing cabinet, with her back to the door when it slammed open, rattling photo frames and sending papers flying off her pin board. Clarke nearly jumped out of her skin as she spun around to face the intruder, absolutely certain that today was the day she died.

"What the hell?" she snapped when she saw Captain Blake standing casually in the doorway. For all the urgency that he'd opened the door with, he looked pretty calm. Her hand fluttered around her chest as she tried to steady her erratic heartbeat and he tracked its movement with dark brown eyes.

"Sorry," he said smirking and looking anything but apologetic. His eyes raked down her body and she was conscious of how sloppy she looked today in her jeans and under armor shirt. There wasn't exactly a dress code for the doctors that worked for the prison and since most of them were technically independent contractors, they pretty much wore whatever the hell they wanted. All the same, Clarke normally made an effort to dress well. She had a closet the size of a small apartment fully stocked with the latest fashions and women's business wear, compliments of her mother's personal shopper, but today had felt like a jeans and t-shirt kind of day when she woke up and damned if she'd let Bellamy see her squirm over her choice of outfits. "How was your weekend?" he asked with something verging on concern in his eyes.

The abrupt change in attitude threw Clarke, and it took her a moment to recover enough to shrug. She _so_ was not in the mood to have this conversation right now. From anyone else she might have appreciated the concern, but with Bellamy, especially after their awkward conversation over the weekend, she really just wanted to tell him to mind his own damn business and get the hell out of her office. Her emotions were still unstable and she felt too vulnerable to face talking about any of it again so soon. Not to mention that it was almost guaranteed that anything she told him would be used against her later. She had zero interest in giving him more ammunition to use when his temper got the better of him so she remained quiet, trying to decide the best way to handle things.

"Come on Princess," he said stepping into the room and closing the door, "I know something happened between you and that asshole." He crossed his arms over his broad chest and glared down at her apparently ready for a heart to heart, which he indicated by being as stern and unapproachable as possible. If she didn't feel so raw, she might have found it amusing that he was even trying to make a connection with her over Finn. From what she'd seen here at the prison, he seemed to have the emotional depth of a teaspoon, so she couldn't imagine anyone wanting to open up to him, least of all her. The safest bet seemed go on the defensive and hope that he'd leave her alone if she didn't budge.

"Finn isn't an asshole," she said glaring right back at him. Clarke wasn't entirely sure how she felt about Finn and his recent behavior, but she wasn't going to listen to Bellamy run him down either. He had no right to be asking personal questions and it was none of his business who she was dating or how their relationship was going. The anger was an easy outlet for all of her pain and confusion, so she readily funneled her feelings into it, coaxing it to life with every arrogant glance he through her way.

"He's an asshole," Bellamy said flatly, "but that's not what I asked you."

"My weekend was fine!" she exclaimed throwing a file down on her desk with a huff. "Not that it's any of your business." There was a fine line between letting anger provide a shield and going on the offense, so she took a deep breath and reminded herself to keep it in check.

"If it was so great why were you crying when you called here?" he said ignoring her sass.

"I wasn't!" He couldn't possibly have known she was crying when she called looking for Wells and either way it was rude for him to comment on it! They were work colleagues not friends and this conversation was inappropriate given that they were both supposed to be working.

"You were," he said not changing expressions. She continued to glare at him from her side of the room and he continued to stare at her flatly until finally he gave up with a sigh. He let his arms fall, resting his hands on the wide band of his utility belt unconsciously as he looked around the room. It was a familiar pose for him and Clarke wondered briefly if he was even aware anymore that he was doing it or if the habit of using his body to draw peoples eye to his most manly asset was so finely ingrained that he didn't even realize he was doing it.

He studied the paintings on her walls and the potted plants lining the sill of her window like he hadn't been in her office a hundred times, before finally turning that penetrating gaze back on her. Obviously he'd been trying to buy some time to think up a new line of attack, but what came out of his mouth was so far from the tactic that she expected that she was rendered momentarily speechless. "Come on Clarke, I have a little sister. I know when girls are upset."

Clarke noticed that his eyes softened as he spoke about his sister and while her mind grappled with the new manipulation, she wondered what their relationship was like. Bellamy didn't seem like the type of man to care about women's feelings even if they were from a little sister and to be honest, she hadn't even known he had siblings. One day she would listen to Wells and actually get to know some of the people she worked with, but day was not today. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said staring down at her hands. Clarke had a horrible poker face so she tried to hide it behind the curtain of her hair as she picked at her cuticles and wished desperately that he would, for once, pick up on discomfort and let the topic drop.

Quiet as a cat, he slipped around the desk and she startled as he lifted the hair away from her face with a gentle hand. Clarke shrank away from his touch in surprise and watched as something close to hurt flashed through his eyes before he put his guard face back on. The situation was so abnormal, surreal even, that she was at a complete loss for words. So, rather than gaping at him open mouthed, she locked her jaws together and stared intently at her desk.

"If he hurt you, you should tell somebody," Bellamy said gruffly, as he headed back toward the door, spine stiff and his tread no longer light.

"He didn't. He would never," she stammered out, inexplicably wanting him to stay and talk to her all of a sudden. They weren't friends, but maybe that was what she needed, someone who wouldn't tip toe around her feelings and just give it to her straight. Maybe if he stayed she _would_ tell him what happened. He seemed like a real man's man and would probably be able to answer her questions about Finn's strange behavior as well as anyone, but the moment passed before she had time to properly think about it.

He didn't say anything more, but he stopped with his hand on the door and turned to stare at her again. She was silent as she tried to process all of the strange realizations flitting through her brain, like the fact that Bellamy seemed to actually care that she was upset, but before she could organize her thoughts or bother to say anything else he was gone, closing the door behind him.

Clarke sighed and sat down heavily in her chair, leaving the forgotten filing cabinet ajar. What the hell was wrong with her lately? First she'd turned into a blubbering mess over the weekend and then she'd started pretending that Captain Blake actually had feelings! Next she'd be convincing herself that all of the inmates were innocent, she thought rolling her eyes and searching through the top drawer of her desk for her cell phone.

Whatever problems she was spinning up in her head were probably just the product of her over analyzing brain. There was almost always a simple explanation for the things that she agonized over and for once she didn't want to think about it. Her trust issues were her own and she didn't want to ruin things by projecting them onto Finn.

She typed out a brief good morning and was relieved to get a quick response from Finn. It was so blessedly normal for him to respond promptly that she felt herself calming. Everything that she was thinking was an overreaction. Finn was a nice person and she was going to screw it up if she wasn't careful.

 _What's up gorgeous? I thought about you all night last night._ She smiled as he added a heart eyes emoticon.

 _Nothing, just sitting at work thinking about you._ Clarke responded while thoughts of Bellamy's concerned stare passed quickly out of her mind. Finn was a great guy. Everyone had weird little quirks that they tried to hide from everyone else. The more she thought about it, the more sweet it seemed that Finn slept in the guest bedroom to keep from disturbing her rest. It was just like him to always be doing thoughtful little things like that so it really shouldn't have surprised her.

 _Naked?_

Clarke giggled and text him a shocked face. _Certainly not! I WAS thinking about how sweet you are!_

 _You're the sweet one. I can still taste you on my lips._ Clarke flushed furiously. She wasn't really comfortable with sexting, but she didn't want to seem like a stick in the mud either so she sent him back a tongue out face. That was flirty enough right? God she needed to get out more!

 _I've got to get to work. Want to meet for dinner tonight?_ After a few minutes during which Clarke started to squirm, he finally responded.

 _Wish I could, but I have plans with my mom tonight._ Clarke responded with a sad face that probably matched her real one, but she didn't push. _Rain check?_

 _Definitely! Ttyl._ She replied, slipping her phone back into her desk with a smile.

At seven o'clock that evening, Clarke was seeing what she hoped was her final patient of the day and her feet were killing her. When she walked into the exam room she was surprised at how young the girl on the table looked. Clarke flipped open the patient chart and saw that she was just barely eighteen. The girl's eyes darted around the room warily and Clarke felt a pang of genuine sadness at a life lost to the system so young.

"How are you today, Charlotte?" she asked, reading her name off the chart. Clarke noticed that the girls hands were shaking and her eyes were wide and fearful. With her blond hair wrapped in a neat braid around the crown of her head, she looked vulnerable and heartbreakingly innocent to Clarke's eyes. It was a real struggle not to hug her and give what comfort physical contact could offer, but she reminded herself as she schooled her facial expression, that this girl was in here for a reason and she had no idea what that reason was. She could be dangerous or have any number of obsessive tendencies that could complicate their doctor patient relationship and it would be best to be cautious until she knew more about the situation.

"I'm f-fine ma'am," Charlotte stammered and then flushed when she saw Clarke staring at her quizzically.

Most of the patients she saw knew exactly why they were in her room and more often than not tried to squeeze her for some extra pain meds or a weeks worth of special diets so it was odd that Charlotte would insist that she was fine when her vitals showed that she clearly wasn't. Almost all of the inmates had an angle, unless they were too incapacitated to try for one, but she couldn't sense any falseness in this tiny girl's big blue eyes.

Clarke took a seat on a stool in front of Charlotte and started scribbling notes in her chart to give the girl a moment to collect herself. Clarke finished reading the chart while she waited, and noted that Charlotte had a persistent wet cough that had been keeping her awake at night and that the other inmates in her cell were concerned that it was catching. If this was another case of pneumonia, she'd call the damn reporters herself!

"It says here that you have been experiencing a cough for the past few weeks?" she inquired gently.

"Ye-yes, ma'am," Charlotte said and then, as if right on cue, her frail body shook with a deep, wracking cough.

Clarke put her stethoscope to the girls back and listened as the coughing subsided. When Charlotte could breath again, Clarke moved her stethoscope around Charlotte's back, asking each time for a deep breath. Clarke didn't think it was pneumonia, it actually sounded like a pretty standard smoker's cough mixed with a cold.

"That's good, thank you," she said removing the stethoscope and sitting back on her stool. "Any other symptoms Charlotte?" she asked, but Charlotte only shook her head. "No fever or chills?" More head shaking. "No nausea or vomiting? How about muscle aches or weakness?"

"No, none of that," she said looking at Clarke carefully.

"Do you smoke?" She watched as Charlotte's eyes got wide and fearful before she shook her head hard and glanced around like someone might hear her even though she hadn't spoken a word. Cigarettes were considered contraband even though they weren't illegal on the outside, because this was a state prison and they had to adhere to state laws, but that didn't stop the inmates from smuggling them in and lighting up every chance they got. It was a relatively minor transgression and Clarke knew that most of the guards over looked it if they could. They had more important things to worry about. Stabbings or heroin trafficking to name a few. Nobody cared about a few packs of cigarettes when there was a real possibility that you could get stabbed over pissing off a mentally unstable inmate for writing them up for smoking. "I'm not going to get you in trouble, Charlotte," Clarke said holding her gaze. "But I do need to know the truth. Otherwise I can't help you get better."

"I don't smoke," Charlotte said firmly.

"Okay, well I'm just going to…," but Clarke was cut off before she could finish.

"There was a lot of smoke in the fire. My face was all black when they pulled me out and I had to be on oxygen for awhile before I came here," Charlotte said quickly.

Clarke frowned at her, but let her finish. She'd pull her file later and check to see if she'd actually been in a fire recently, but it _was_ possible that she had a preexisting condition that was being exacerbated by the poor air quality in the cell blocks.

"And… and sometimes the other women in my cell smoke and it makes me cough more at night. But don't tell them I told you anything!" Charlotte said grabbing a hold of Clarke's hand and startling her. It was strictly forbidden for the inmates to lay their hands on any of the doctors or nursing staff. Even in a friendly manner it was frowned upon because they didn't wear any sort of protective gear like the guards except in special circumstances where there was a history of an inmate lashing out violently against the medical staff, but Clarke wasn't scared of this tiny girl.

Clarke gently eased her hand out of Charlotte's grasp and patted her leg. "I won't say anything, but I do need you to come back for breathing treatments every day for a little while okay? And when they start smoking, if you can't get out of the cell you need to at least try to cover your face with your pillow or blanket okay?"

"Okay," Charlotte said looking relieved.

"I'm going to call one of the nurses in to start your first treatment. Just sit tight and they'll be in here in just a moment," Clarke said smiling as she left the room. She stopped by the nurses station to hand back the chart and ask someone to start the treatment before heading back to her office. Captain Blake passed her in the hallway talking to a woman wearing a maintenance uniform, with her face buried in some sort of manual, and glared at her. She didn't know what the hell his problem was, but ever since their little chat this morning he'd been acting particularly standoffish.

Maybe it was because he'd barged into her office while she was talking on the phone with Wells after lunch and over heard her telling him about her dinner date rain check with Finn. He'd barged in like usual, barking at her to prescribe extra tylenol with codein to a patient, who also happened to be keeping tabs on a particularly dangerous inmate that had been convicted of several drug related charges and was suspected to be a prominent drug kingpin in the southern L.A. area - so basically a big deal, when he'd noticed she was on the phone and stopped to listen in. After about a minute of her studiously ignoring him while she finished filling Wells in on her next date, he got the hint and left, slamming the door behind him as he went. She hadn't bothered tracking him down to ask about the prescription, he'd find someone else if it was that important or he'd come back later.

As far as she was concerned, he could go on ignoring her every chance he got. At least his mouth was shut when he was busy glaring and she'd consider that an improvement any day! It wasn't like her personal life was any of his business anyway and a brief moment of being a human being over the weekend didn't make up for years of being a misogynistic asshole.

Her shift technically ended at seven and she planned to stop by her favorite Chinese restaurant for dinner, but first, she sat down at her desk and turned on her laptop. Typing out a quick inquiry in the prison database, she found Charlotte's file. Clarke slipped on her reading glasses and started scanning through health information and transfer reports, looking for anything that might help in Charlotte's treatment.

Twenty minutes later she was looking at photos of a large abandoned factory building, or what was left of one anyway. The outside was black and charred, with half collapsed walls and shattered windows. There was a photo on the front page of a Pennsylvania newspaper showing a sooty faced firefighter cradling a small blond bundle in his arms. The photo was captioned with Charlotte's name and the name of the firefighter holding her, but the article was mostly about the millions of dollars in damages to the building and property inside. After several more minutes of searching around on the internet, Clarke found an article detailing Charlotte's life as a small town runaway. Some intrepid journalist had even bothered to go through the trouble of transcribing Charlotte's confession and Clarke's heart ached as she read it.

At only sixteen years old, Charlotte had broken into the abandoned warehouse on a snowy December night seeking shelter. According to her confession, she'd been on the streets for more than three years, finally ending up in Pittsburg. In her own words, the article described how she had started a fire in an empty barrel for warmth and had then fallen asleep on the floor nearby. When she woke up the fire had already gotten out of control and she nearly died before the fire fighters could reach her.

The company that owned the building must have a ton of money to throw around if they managed to keep her pitiful story out of the major media headlines, Clarke thought angrily. It would also explain how Charlotte had managed to get charged with arson and criminal mischief rather than something more appropriate for an accidental first time offense. A jury of her peers had found her guilty on both counts and she'd been ordered here for rehabilitation less than six months ago.

Clarke threw her glasses away in disgust and pushed back from the computer. If someone could be sentenced to TonDC for fifteen years for accidentally burning down a building while rapists and murders walked free after only eight years with good behavior, the justice system was well and truly broken.

Clarke resolved to do what she could to treat the overlooked damage from smoke inhalation, but honestly in the damp, cold cell blocks, Charlotte was unlikely to fully recover. Clarke was too tired to puzzle out a solution tonight, however. She'd make a note to talk to Wells about it when he got back. He was good about finding the right advocacy groups and occasionally knew a loop hole or two in the treatment budget that Clarke had never heard of before.

Feeling better that she had a plan, she shut down her computer, gathered her keys and was hanging up her lab coat when her door burst open for the fifth or sixth time that day. You'd think with as often as it happened she'd be used to it, but she never quite managed it.

Her heart was beating a million miles an hour and she lost her keys as she whirled, but managed not to fall flat on her ass as she stumbled. She bit back a curse and clutched her chest to try to slow her heart when she realized it was just Captain Blake… again. He arched an eyebrow at her and smirked which only served to fan the flames of her anger.

"What is wrong with you?" she said between clenched teeth.

"Nothing princess, what's wrong with you?" he said, sounding more serious than the question seemed to warrant, like there was a question within the question that had nothing to do with their current situation.

She didn't bother trying to figure out what he meant, instead opting to scoop her keys up off the floor and continue on her way out. When she reached the door, she tried to move past him, but he stood firm, staring down his long bronze nose at her and forcing her to stop unless she wanted to actually shove him out of the way.

"Could you please move?" she asked as politely as she could through gritted teeth.

"I could," he said with a slow smile, but didn't budge. This was a common game with him. He'd act purposely obtuse until she was so fed up she snapped and then he'd leave with a smile, knowing that he'd gained a victory over her. She hated it and she hated him for reducing her to his level.

"Well will you?" Clarke asked frustrated. It was almost comforting to realize that they'd gone back to their normal relationship, but she wasn't really in the mood to play his game after seeing Charlotte.

"Now _that_ is the question isn't it?" he said with a slow smile. "What are you doing tonight Princess?" he asked, leaning in close enough that she could feel his breath on her face.

She could see his eyes dilate as his glance flicked toward her lips, and her pulse quickened. What the hell was wrong with her? What the hell was wrong with him? Why would he care what she was doing tonight? Was he trying to ask her out? What the fuck was going on with everyone today!? Forcing all of her wayward hormones back down where they belonged, she huffed out a sigh and tried to let him know with her body language that they weren't doing this right now.

"I'm going home, Blake. Now please get out of my way," she said firmly. She wasn't having this conversation. She wasn't feeding into his mind games. No tonight, not ever.

"Are you going home alone?" he asked, stepping closer to her. It was a clear intimidation tactic meant to make her feel small and powerless, one that had probably worked well for him in the past, but she was having none of it. She planted her feet and stood firm against him, letting him know without speaking that she could handle him. That she could handle this if he wanted to go there.

Clarke wasn't about to give ground to him, but not backing down caused problems of its own. As her chest rose and fell with every angry intake of breath, her bust brushed against his crossed arms. The sensation was odd, as were her feelings about what was happening here. If he was propositioning her, he was way off the mark. She wasn't some bimbo that would jump in and out of his bed at the snap of his fingers. In fact, she was about as likely to climb into bed with him as she was with a snake! If he wasn't propositioning her, then what the hell was he actually asking her? Was this some weird way of trying to protect her from Finn. If she said she was rushing home to be with Finn would he try warn her away?

The idea of Bellamy Blake being protective her was so bizarre that her mind immediately rejected it. Whatever the hell was going on here, she had a feeling that it actually had very little to do with her or her feelings.

"It's none of your god damn business what I'm doing or who I am or am not going home with!" she said glaring at him. "If you are trying to ask me something just ask it already." It was far passed time for this to be over. She was tired and wanted to go home. If he wanted to force the issue and make her say something rude so be it, but he better get on with it!

"You're awfully eager to hear me ask aren't you Princess?" he asked sounding surprised, but curious. Apparently this was going to be a proposition after all, she thought with disgust.

"Only so I can have the pleasure of telling you no!" she said and smiled meanly as she watched his grin wilt. "The sooner you ask the sooner I can explain, in little words - so that you'll understand, that I am _not_ interested in whatever you're offering."

His reaction was so over exaggerated that under different circumstances it would have been comical, but in that moment it really wasn't. His face closed down immediately and he actually stepped away from her like she'd burned him. The hurt, guarded look didn't last long though. She knew the exact moment when his pride started to win over, because his nostrils flared and his eyebrows dipped down into his oh so familiar glare.

"Don't flatter yourself Princess, I can do a hell of a lot better than some trust fund crybaby," he said and then stalked off down the hall on stiff legs. His spine was ram rod straight and he didn't glance to the left or right as he made a beeline for the guards booth.

She stood in her doorway staring after him feeling strangely hurt, but shook it off. After locking her door and checking her pocket to make sure she had her phone, she headed for the door. A brief stop at the nurses station assured her that Charlotte had received her breathing treatment and been sent back to her cell, and then she was free to head for the parking lot. The night guards waved at her as she pushed through the last set of locked doors and she returned the farewell with a forced smile and a small wave of her own.

Clarke took in a large lungful of the moist August air as she reached the parking lot and let the late evening sun wash over her pale skin. For a moment, it was peaceful to stand there in the shade of the building and look away into the surrounding forest, but she was brought abruptly back into reality when someone brushed passed her, bumping her shoulder forcefully in their passing.

Bellamy had shed his slate guard uniform in favor of blue jeans and a black t-shirt that clung to his arms like a second skin. He walked toward the parking lot without so much as glancing back at her and headed straight for _her_ parking space. She watched, irritated, as he climbed into the cab of the jacked up ford f-150 that had been blocking her space that morning and cranked it over. He sped out of the parking lot while she continued to stare after him from the sidewalk. What an _asshole_!

A short time later, Clarke was standing in line at the counter of Chef Wan's small east side establishment, a little known, but well loved Chinese restaurant that left Americanized Chinese cuisine at the door, patiently waiting on her take out order. Everything here was authentic and it brought back so many fond memories of months spent in places like Hong Kong and Huizhou, that it was almost worth it to come just for the sake of nostalgia. You could order the best pork dumplings in the city alongside a bowl of spinach noodles or go for something really outlandish like stinky tofu or 1000 year old eggs. Chef Wan aimed to please a diverse clientele and judging by the busy kitchen beyond the counter, he was succeeding. It was feeling like a comfort food sort of night so Clarke had placed a take out order for one large fried mashi and a side of vegetable rolls on her drive over.

As she waited, she glanced around the small dining room, absorbing all of the laughter and smiling faces, happily. No matter what time of day you came, there were always a ton of guests and a party like atmosphere. The decor was what you'd expect from most Chinese restaurants in America complete with red and gold dragon designs everywhere and puffy paper lanterns with random Chinese letters on them. It was tacky, but strangely charming. Judging by the over flowing tables and dull roar inside, she wasn't the only one who thought so.

A familiar laugh drew her attention to a corner booth just behind where she stood and Clarke could see Finn's face peeking over the tops of the seat. What a coincidence that he would be having dinner with his mom at one of her favorite restaurants! Clarke lifted her hand to wave at him, but stopped mid motion when she saw a willowy brunette sitting beside him. The woman was beautiful in a red cocktail dress, with long, lush falls of dark hair falling around her pointed face, and big exotic eyes. Clarke felt an immediate pang of jealousy, but smothered it quickly.

That could be his sister, or a cousin, or even just a childhood friend. She noticed that they were talking to someone seated across from them and let out a relieved breath. She could just see the top of a graying head of hair over the seat facing away from her and she assumed that it belonged to Finn's mom. It made perfect sense that if Finn was having a night out with his mother that any family in the area would also be invited and judging by the familiarity between the two, the girl was definitely someone he'd known a long time. A voice behind her interpreted her thoughts and she flushed when she realized that the man behind the counter had been trying to catch her attention for some time.

She pulled a twenty out of her wallet, apologized for her rudeness, and thanked him for the food all while he stared at her curiously. She spun on her heal and almost ran smack into the person behind her, but managed to save herself the embarrassment of trampling someone by throwing her arms back at the very last second, knocking over a bowl full of mints on the counter instead. The bowl crashed to the floor and the brightly colored candies scattered everywhere. She could feel her cheeks flaming as she apologized profusely and knelt down to begin cleaning up her mess.

All of the commotion had drawn the eyes of several nearby patrons including everyone at Finn's table. She ignored the questioning stares as long as she could while picking up the candy with the help of several helpful waiters, but eventually she couldn't avoid looking any longer. When their eyes met, Finn looked horrified and Clarke flushed harder still.

Pushing her way to the door, she fled the restaurant with images of Finn's face clouding her eyes. The woman at his side looked confused and Clarke was sure that she had seen pity in her eyes as well. Quickly, she stepped into her car and slipped away from the curb. Clarke had never been more mortified in her entire life!

What if Finn thought she was following him, stalking him even? He'd told her stories of other women who had seen dollar signs next to his name and tried to pursue him long after he'd lost interest. What if he thought she was like them? She groaned into her hand as she slumped in her seat, her food setting beside her forgotten.

Fifteen minutes later she parked on the street in front of her apartment, not bothering with the parking garage for tonight. The stark industrial building was one of many on the block that had been converted into apartments or urban specialty stores. Her loft was above a large handmade clothing store that catered to a very specific crowd. Hipster was the word that came to mind when you got a glimpse at the multitude of "100% organic cotton only" or "handmade with love" signs littering the store front, but Clarke happened to know the owners and Kim and Bruce were total sweethearts that seemed like they genuinely embraced the ideals they advertised. As she was walking upstairs, her phone buzzed in her pocket, but she didn't bother fishing it out to see who it was until she had unlocked her door and set everything down on the island separating the kitchen from her living area.

 _Hey… so that was awkward._ She groaned again, but soon rallied. If he was texting her still, surely she hadn't done too much damage.

 _I'm so sorry. I had no idea you were going there. I'm so embarrassed!_ Clarke responded, biting her lower lip between her teeth painfully as she waited for his response. The ellipsis indicating that he was typing seemed to last forever, tormenting her with all their possibilities.

 _Yeah, weird coincidence._ The brief text made her heart flutter in panic. Oh god! He thought she was crazy! While she deliberated on what, if anything she could say to smooth things over, her phone chimed again.

 _I came outside, but you were already gone. I'm sorry that you felt you had to leave._ What a sweetie! He was apologizing for her being the biggest idiot ever! She was so relieved that he didn't think she was a nut job that she completely forgot to ask about the woman he was having dinner with.

 _It's okay! Sorry to interrupt your night. I'll call you later?_ She didn't want to seem to pushy, but at the same time she desperately needed to hear his voice to assure that she hadn't irreparably damaged their relationship.

 _Sounds good babe! I should be home around 11:30._ He added a kissing face and she put down her phone beaming. She threw on some comfy old sweats and a baggy t-shirt then settled down on the couch to watch tv and eat. The mashi had never tasted so good.

After her third episode of Game of Thrones, she glanced at the Salvidor Dali replica clock hanging above her industrial metal door and sighed. It was nearly midnight so Finn had probably had enough time to get home. Sliding off the couch, she padded over to the island where she'd left her phone and quickly dialed his cell number. It rang several times, and just when Clarke was about to hang up, a woman's voice answered.

"Finn's phone," she said. Clarke was stunned into silence. What was a woman doing at Finn's house at this time of night? Surely his mother wouldn't still be with him. That was when Clarke remembered the petite brunette in the restaurant, something that she'd completely forgotten in her wash of relief earlier. Maybe this was the dark haired beauty who had seemed so awfully familiar with Finn. Her brain immediately started churning out horrible scenarios. The two of them kissing, touching… making love. It was enough to gag her, but she remained silent, too afraid to speak.

"Look, I don't know who this is, but don't call Finn's phone again." The line went dead and Clarke slumped to the floor. No matter how hard she tried to make up alternate scenarios, she couldn't quite convince herself that something wasn't going on between Finn and the mystery woman that answered his phone. After all, most problems had a simple answer and the simple answer was that Finn was cheating on her. It would explain so much about his recent behavior.

Clarke eventually found her way to her bed, but after an hour of tossing and turning she realized that she was never going to fall asleep so she went back to the kitchen and fixed herself a large glass of wine. It wasn't the best way to take the edge off, but it would do in a pinch. Several glasses later, the bottle was empty and Clarke was asleep on the couch in front of the television while infomercials played in the background.

At exactly 6:00 a.m., Clarke's phone alarm screeched to life, startling her out of sleep. She cursed as she groped for her phone and swiftly silenced the shrill blare. Her head was pounding and her mouth tasted foul, but she pushed herself off the couch anyway. If she hurried, she could take a shower and still make it to Starbucks before she had to be at work. The memory of spilling coffee on Finn when they first met popped into her head, twisting her heart painfully. On second thought, maybe she'd get some vitamin water instead.

An hour later, Clarke was sipping a large coffee from Dunkin Donuts and trying her best to devour a bear claw while driving. Her hair was still damp and twisted into a messy bun at the back of her head and she was once again in jeans and a t-shirt. She'd switched her contacts for a pair of dark rimmed glasses and hoped that her eyes didn't look as bloodshot as they felt.

Her parking space was thankfully vacant this morning. In fact, there were a lot of empty spaces today. It looked like administration had once again left them short handed, but there was no surprise there. She understood that a lot of times, with budget cuts and the loss of benefits, that it was hard to keep good, reliable people here, but it was starting to become a safety hazard! It wasn't like they were babysitting toddlers here or something, she thought angrily as she pushed into the building.

Ms. Perky Receptionist of the Year had managed to make it in today, Clarke noted sourly. She kept her head down and made for the body scanner as fast as she could without full out running. By a stroke of luck, the phone rang just as the girl was about to say something, so Clarke was saved from the decision to be rude or try to fake small talk. Maybe this day wasn't going to be so bad after all!

Clarke slowed as she neared the infirmary. There was a commotion at the door, but she couldn't see much beyond the backs of the guards and nurses who were wheeling someone down the hall toward an exam room. She could see Dr. Tsing running after the gurney and was anxious to get inside. When the door buzzed, she pushed it open quickly and jogged for the nurses station.

"What's going on?" Clarke asked the startled nurse typing away behind the nurses station.

"Guards just brought in another stab wound," the woman said still looking startled. Although Clarke had been working here for three years, she couldn't remember the woman's name and if there wasn't so much going on, that fact might have bothered her more.

"Does Dr. Tsing need an assist?" she asked. Clarke's anxiety levels were slowly lowering. The nurse didn't look flustered or overwhelmed. After the initial shock of Clarke rushing up to the desk, she'd adopted a calm, detached voice as she relayed information. If there was a major crisis, there would be a lot more activity in the nurses station and this woman would probably be a lot less calm, Clarke reasoned.

"I don't believe so Dr. Griffin, but if you are needed I will ring you," she said giving Clarke a very professional blank face.

"Yes, thank you," Clarke said before heading to her office. If nothing major was going on then she needed a few moments to collect her thoughts and pop a few aspirin.

She unlocked the door, slipped into her lab coat and settled behind her desk. As the computer booted up, she sipped her tepid coffee and thought about Finn. Her head was still pounding from the wine headache and the donut was roiling around in her stomach, but she tried to focus on reading her interoffice correspondence and checking her voice messages anyway.

Listening to the machine play back her missed calls reminded her that Finn still hadn't gotten ahold of her. Regardless of what was going on, she felt like he at least owed her an explanation. With every passing minute that she didn't hear from him, it became more and more obvious that he was cheating on her, and it made her heart squeeze painfully in her chest. Worse though, was the lingering hope that this could all be explained away. She wanted so much for him to call and tell her that it was all an innocent misunderstanding, that the girl on the phone was his cousin and he'd fallen asleep before calling her or that she'd hit him over the head and stolen his phone. Anything would be better than this horrible silence and she hated herself for hoping. It was stupid and she wasn't a stupid person.

She took her phone out of her desk and unlocked the screen anyway. No missed calls and no text messages. It was like her phone was mocking her by remaining stubbornly silent. She hadn't even gotten a junk email yet this morning for Christ sake! Clarke wished that she could call Wells and talk to him about it, but she knew he wouldn't pick up.

Yesterday when he'd phoned her, he'd told her that he and Callie would be traveling in the countryside for a few days and he'd likely have spotty reception for the rest of his trip. It was for the best. She'd already monopolized enough of his time yesterday with her selfish demands for attention. Callie seemed like a sweet girl even though Clarke had only met her a handful of times, and she didn't want to ruin their romantic getaway with all of her relationship drama.

Although she resolved not to bother him again while he was on vacation, she did regret not telling him the full story yesterday. Clarke had only relayed the good bits about her weekend with Finn, sure that she'd blown everything out of proportion, but after last night, that didn't seem so certain anymore. If she had just told Wells everything from the start, he may have given her different advice and she always felt a lot more confident with him backing her up. Honestly, as far as Clarke was concerned, Wells couldn't come back soon enough!

The phone on her desk rang shrilly and she jumped in her chair. "Dr. Griffin," she answered.

"Dr. Griffin, there is patient in exam room two that needs immediate attention," the no name nurse said on the other end of the line. Clarke thanked her and cradled the receiver. Exam room two was on the men's side of the facility so she crossed the main intersection, passing both the nurses station and the guard booth, hurrying towards her patient.

Captain Blake was waiting in the hallway outside the exam room… great. He pushed away from the wall he'd been leaning against as she approached. When his eyes found hers he looked shocked for a moment, but that look was quickly replaced with anger.

"Are you fucking drunk?" he growled quietly, taking her arm and steering her farther down the hall away from the curious eyes and ears of any nearby nurses.

"Get your hands off me," she said jerking her arm out of his grasp and glaring at him. "And no. I'm not drunk," she said glancing around to see if anyone was nearby. The last thing she needed as some nosy nurse spreading around that she and Blake were fighting in the hallway.

"No offense, but you look pretty rough Princess," he sneered. "I need you at 100% for this one," he said following her back to the door where she picked up the patients chart from the bin on the wall.

She scanned the report, ignoring both the urge to rub her eyes and the penetrating stare from Captain Blake. John Murphy was one of Blake's unofficial informants. He didn't have a snitch jacket, as the inmates liked to call them, because his information was too secret and too valuable to risk anyone finding out. Anything that he told Bellamy was strictly off the books and Clarke often wondered at the legality of it. Surely there were policies against bribing inmates or putting them in unnecessarily dangerous situations without any verifiable recompense, like a testifying for reduced time would afford.

From the reports, Clarke gathered that Murphy had been a mid level drug dealer with ties to a cartel until he'd sampled a little too much of his own product and strangled a stripper in his hotel room. How he'd managed to get out of a life sentence was beyond her, but apparently serious dependency and being high out of your mind was now a plausible defense. Murphy happened to be one of Captain Blake's favorites despite his slimy demeanor or passed transgressions, but something about him made Clarke's skin crawl. It was like you could see that something was missing in his eyes, that little spark of humanity that kept people from devolving into animals.

Blake was constantly demanding that Clarke give Murphy trumped up diagnosis so that he could stay in the infirmary where the guards had easy access to him and he could fill them in on all the goings on with the most dangerous inmates, the ones who were capable of staging full scale riots or plan out ways to isolate and assault staff, so she was pretty familiar with him. Murphy was particularly close with an inmate who went by his last name, Shumway and that was one of the reasons he was so valuable to Captain Blake. This man, whom she had never met, was imprisoned for setting an entire family from a rival motorcycle gang on fire after finding out that his wife was sleeping with one of them. The guy was suspected to be heavily involved in a Mexican drug cartel, the same one associated with Murphy incidentally, and was serving life without parole. In Clarke's opinion, those were the most dangerous types of inmates. They knew that they didn't have anything left to lose and therefore didn't shy away from much in the way of violence or rule breaking.

Shumway was one of the big bads and if taking advantage of Murphy's connections kept even one person safe from him, then Clarke felt like it was worth it. Morality be damned. John Murphy wasn't a good guy and if part of the punishment for what he did included a little bit of dangerous work so be it. She knew Wells would disagree, but she just couldn't find it in her to feel sorry for him. He'd made his bed when he took someone else's life and now he'd have to lie in it.

When she got to the symptoms section and read that Murphy was being seen for signs of forced rape her eyes got wide and flew to Captain Blake's face. He stared back, his expression carefully blank, but Clarke could sense the tension and worry behind the mask. If someone had found out that Murphy was informing for Bellamy, not only was Murphy in trouble, but that meant that Shumway was very likely planning something big in retaliation for the breach of trust. Credibility was a big deal on the inside and Shumway couldn't be seen as looking weak when it came to punishment.

It was well known that Shumway was funneling drugs into the prison, compliments of his cartel connections, but thus far he'd evaded every effort to prove it. His bunk was always clean during random searches, he was never seen with contraband nor did he actively participate in violence, and he'd never failed a drug screening, so the guards were left to watch and wonder about how he was doing it. That was before John Murphy got arrested and sentenced to TonDC.

For the first time in years, the guards had started getting a glimpse into how Shumway and his cronies did business and no one in Shumway's circle was any the wiser. If Murphy had been found out, it was dark news for everyone. Shumway may not attack anyone directly, but all of the staff were aware of his connections both inside the prison and outside. He had plenty of lackies to take care of his dirty work. Shumway was the type to be sitting in his cell with a smile on his face while the person he sent to kill you slipped a hardened piece of plastic between your ribs or someone in your family got caught in a "random" drive by shooting one day while they were out buying groceries. Everyone would be on edge when this got out and well they should be, Clarke thought with a shudder.

"Does this mean what I think it does?" she asked. Her eyes scanned his face worriedly while she waited for his reassurances. Normally, Clarke wouldn't have stood in the hallway discussing _anything_ while a patient was in her exam room and in pain, but the news had unsettled her and she needed a moment to compose herself. She regretted the decision to drink herself to sleep last night more than anything in that moment. The pounding behind her eyes was making it hard for her to concentrate and she needed to be as clear headed as possible for what was about to happen. If Murphy had been found out, he wouldn't be the first injury she'd see and they needed to start making a plan immediately for riot management and retaliation scenarios. It was a scary prospect that had her heart beating fast in her chest.

"We don't know," he said quietly. Clarke's eyes danced between his for a moment before she turned and headed inside the room, with Blake hot on her heals. He waved the guard standing sentry in the room out of the room as soon as they were inside and he complied immediately.

John was lying face down with his wrists and ankles firmly strapped to the table. He had already been placed in an open back medical gown and she could see him shivering beneath a thin blanket. Whether it was from the chill of the room or the trauma of what had happened she couldn't immediately say, but she asked the Captain to adjust the thermostat on the old wall mounted heater either way. He obliged silently and then took up his usual position near the head of the bed to wait and watch while Clarke examined her patient. At first this peculiar habit of his, to stand guard inside the room even for the non violent patients, had made her nervous and unsettled while she was trying to work, but over time she'd become used to it and now she barely registered him being in the room at all.

"Are you in pain?" Clarke asked gently. She took a seat next to Murphy's head and he turned to face her. His skin was pale and his eyes were red and puffy. Something like this would change a person. John Murphy might never recover from this attack and she felt pity for him. No one deserved this, not even "low life" drug dealers like him.

"It's not so bad now," he said closing his eyes.

Clarke checked his chart and saw that he had already been given a mild sedative. That was good, it would make the examination easier. "I'm just going to open the back of your gown and take a look now okay?" she asked gently. His eyes fluttered open and she waited until she saw him nod before standing and untying the strings. She pulled the blanket off of him and laid the back of his gown open slowly, giving him time to adjust and trying not to trigger him.

He had several large bruises on the tops of his shoulders and neck, probably from where his attacker held him. There were several scrapes on the side of his face and up and down his arms as well as some minor bruising on his ribs, but his buttocks were clearly the biggest problem area. She probed his ribs first, trying to ease him into the examination, and didn't receive any protests or feel anything that would indicate a broke bone, but decided she'd schedule an x-ray just to be sure. After determining that he was sufficiently calm, Clarke took a deep breath and moved down, gently spreading his buttocks apart to check for damage to his anus and the surrounding area. Murphy immediately flinched. His body went taught as a bowstring and he began to struggle against his restraints.

"Relax, Mr. Murphy. You are safe here," she said trying to soothe him. When he didn't relax, Clarke crossed the room and unlocked a drawer full of syringes. She filled one with another dose of sedative and injected it into his upper arm. He relaxed immediately and Clarke dropped the used needle into a biological waste receptacle near Captain Blake. She could see the pity in his eyes as he stared at the damage in front of him, but he was careful to remain stoic.

"I'm going to give him a local and put in a few stitches," she told Captain Blake as she pressed the call button. She'd need at least two nurses to help her properly access the area that needed stitches. While she waited, Clarke prepared a tray with dissolveable sutures and anything else she might need just to keep busy.

When the nurses arrived they helped her situate Murphy into as optimal a position as they could and she began putting in sutures. After twelve small stitches on the outside, she inserted a digital probe to check for any internal damage. The fissures inside were relatively minor and would likely heal on their own so she cleaned up the area and instructed the nurses to apply some topical cream for pain and to prevent infection.

Clarke threw away her gloves and thoroughly washed her hands before preparing to leave the room. "He'll need to remain in the infirmary for at least a week," she said looking at Captain Blake. She nearly smiled when she noticed that his face looked paler than usual and he was clasping his hands tightly together, probably to keep them from shaking. It must not be easy to see something like this for the first time even for someone as big and bad as Bellamy. Unfortunately, this was an injury she saw all to often being a full time physician at TonDC, a thought that sobered her immediately. This was not the time to make fun of Bellamy's sudden squeamishness even if a good laugh would have made her feel better.

It was common for doctors and nurses, especially in high stress positions, like the ER, to make jokes and laugh about the strangest, most inappropriate things, and Clarke had gotten used to it during her residency. It was a coping mechanism, a way to shield yourself from the horrors you forced yourself to see day in and day out, but that didn't mean that outsiders understood it at all. That's why you didn't violate the cardinal rule; never allow them to see you joking. It tended to ignite tempers and inflame patients if their loved ones were dying or grievously injured and the staff was having a laugh around the nurses station, but the sad reality was, that to the doctors and nurses, that was their job and if you let the job get to you, you wouldn't have it anymore.

That was why she didn't make the joke about Bellamy's pinched face or sweaty brow, but it was also why she was able to think it inside her head without feeling like a horrible person. Do what you've got to do to stay sane, it was her resident surgeon's mantra and she'd found that they'd all used it before they were finished with their residency.

Clarke left the nurses to finish up and walked back to the guards station to request a transfer to the medical ward cells. They were a select group of cells, including the ones for psyche patients, and were much more luxurious than the cell blocks in the rest of the prison, but that wasn't saying much. She hoped that Murphy would be made as comfortable as possible, but in reality, he'd probably be in pain for awhile and she wouldn't be able to give him anything to help, a fact that had always bothered her when it came to inmate treatment. It went against everything she'd ever been taught to ignore a patients pain, but that's what they expected you to do here.

Captain Blake had followed silently behind her, not saying anything as she spoke with the guards, but not making any move to leave either. When she was satisfied that the guards understood her instructions on where to place Murphy and how to move him, she made a few notes in his chart and returned it to the nurses station on her way back to her office with Captain Blake following the whole way.

Only when the door was closed firmly behind her did she turn to acknowledge him. "So what are you going to do about this?" she asked taking a seat and gesturing to one of the chairs on the other side of her desk. It wasn't a gesture she'd made to him often, possibly ever, but any animosity from previous days was forgotten in the face of todays events.

He sat, crossing his legs at ankle and knee, but avoided her eyes, instead staring studiously out the window. It was almost as if he was afraid to speak, like if he said what was on his mind it would somehow make it a reality. She understood his reluctance, it wasn't a pretty prospect to think about, but she, as well as the other medical staff, needed to know what their plans were for handling this situation. Their lives were just as much at risk as everyone else's, even if they weren't patrolling the cell blocks.

"I don't know. We'll have to wait till he's awake before we start asking any real questions," Bellamy finally said, frowning at his closed fist.

"Did they catch who did it?" she asked. "If they have then you might be able to read something into the situation from that alone," she said quietly, encouraging him to speak.

"Yeah. A new guy, just transfered in. Probably looking for cred with Shumway or something. Maybe trying to pay a debt for one of the other gangs, who the fuck knows with these animals," he said striking his fist on his knee. The small display of temper wasn't entirely out of place. Blake was pretty famous, or rather infamous, for his explosive temper, but she had never seen him angry with himself or looking so unsure and that more than anything unsettled her.

Clarke stared at him curiously. Normally if there was a problem Captain Blake was all over it. He was usually three steps ahead of it by the time she even heard about it, but right now he looked lost. It was an interesting look for him, so different than his normal cocky swagger and juvenile posturing. It almost made him seem like a normal human as opposed to the rock hard macho man persona he worked so hard at. In short, it was a nice change.

"Where is he now?" she asked trying to keep him focused.

"He was the one that Dr. Tsing was patching up," he said studying her in confusion as she snatched up the receiver in panic. Clarke dialed the extension for the guard booth with record breaking speed and waited anxiously as the line rang three times before someone picked up.

"The patient in exam room two needs to be placed separately from the one coming out of surgery," she told the man on the other end of the line. Normally the prison tried to house the inmates that needed to stay in the medical ward as closely together as possible to decrees costs and make the guards' rounds easier, but she didn't want to take the chance that Murphy and his attacker would be housed in the same cell. Prison policy or not, she wouldn't force that kind of trauma on a patient who'd already been used in such a violent way.

"Good," Captain Blake said when she hung up and her eyebrows rose high on her forehead as they stared at each other. Clarke didn't require his praise or approval when making decisions, but she didn't feel like it would be productive to mention that, so she stayed quiet, waiting to see what he'd say next. This may be the longest period of time he'd went without yelling at her for one thing or another and she was rather enjoying the change.

"Well," she said standing up after several moments of silence, "I have other patients to see and I'm sure you have an investigation to begin." If he wasn't going to talk, there was no reason to keep sitting in her office staring at each other. His eyes followed her as she rounded the desk, but only in a cursory sort of way. He was too deep in thought to really be paying attention to what she was doing or saying. "You'll be able to speak with Murphy in about an hour after the sedative wears off. I'll meet you there. Without Wells being here, he won't have access to anything but basic crisis counseling and I'd like to start him on some antidepressants before then."

It would really have been best for him to start sessions with Wells before prescribing any medication, but they'd do what they could for him in the interim. He'd likely be out of medical before Wells returned and she didn't want him going back into general population without something to help level him out. Clarke held open the door and Captain Blake strode out of her office without so much as a farewell.

There was one minor cold and an ear infection waiting on her when Clarke finally got around to doing her normal rounds and she sailed through the exams with an unusual detachment. Everything she did felt foggy after the events of last night and the excitement this morning and it was a struggle to stay focused and despite her best efforts to stay busy, Clarke was becoming increasingly depressed that Finn still hadn't tried to call her.

As she was finishing up notes in her office, she remembered her promise to meet Captain Blake in medical and decided it was about time to go check on Murphy anyway. She'd be a little late, but it was better than not showing up at all.

The medical ward, where they kept ICU inmates and anyone on suicide watch, had it's own special nurses station and Clarke called ahead to request a dose of Xanax before leaving. It was waiting for her in a paper cup on a nice neat little tray beside Murphy's chart when she arrived. Clarke took the time to thank the nurses as she signed in on the waiting clip board and scooped up the tray. If the nurses in her wing had half as much organization as this lot, her life and the mountains of paper work she did every day would be so much easier!

Captain Blake was once again waiting for her outside Murphy's room and he frowned at her after glancing once at his watch. Clarke sighed as his face settled into it's usual scowl. She was only fifteen minutes late and damned if she'd let him dictate her schedule!

"It's about time," he said, unlocking the door for her. Clarke chose to ignore him as she stepped inside the sterile little room. Their were no curtains separating the two inmates and the wall facing the nurses station was made entirely of glass so the pretense of privacy wasn't really necessary. Clarke smiled pleasantly at the room's other occupant before making her way over to Murphy. She set her tray down on his bedside table and poured a small glass of water from a waiting pitcher. When the guards transfered Murphy, they'd switched him back to laying face up, but she noticed that the padded straps were still holding down his arms and legs.

"Captain Blake," she said quietly as she turned away from the table, "do you think that you could take off his restraints? I'm sure that he is fine now," she added glancing at Murphy's passive eyes.

Blake didn't reply. Just frowned and reached for the straps. He released them one by one and glanced cautiously at his best informant as Murphy rubbed his wrists and stared at them reproachfully.

"You don't have to talk like I'm not here," Murphy said bitterly, still massaging his wrists.

"I'm sorry," Clarke said passively and she hoped that he understood that she was apologizing for the entire situation not just their rudeness. Being in prison, away from everyone and everything you've ever known, was hard enough. Getting raped while you were here for possibly ratting out a big time gang member was one of the worst scenarios most inmates could imagine.

Murphy just shrugged at her apology and stared at the wall behind her head. Clarke glanced worriedly up at Captain Blake, but he had his hard-ass guard face on and didn't even bother looking at her.

"These are just some mild anti-depressants," Clarke said passing Murphy a glass full of water and the cup of pills. He took them from her quickly and threw them back without protest, never once making eye contact with anyone. After draining the entire glass of water he handed it roughly back to her and she saw Captain Blake take a step forward. She frowned at him until he stopped, but she could tell that he still wasn't happy with the vulnerability of her position so she took a step back from the bed, putting herself just outside Murphy's reach and saw Bellamy relax a little. "Dr. Jaha will be back in a few weeks and you can start formal counseling sessions with him then if you'd like. In the meantime, there are crisis counselors available if you'd like to talk to one of them."

Murphy grunted and turned his head away from her without answering. It went against every instinct she had as a doctor and as a person not to try to soothe a patient who was in such obvious distress, but she couldn't with Murphy for obvious reasons and it made her sad as much as it made her angry. The administration wouldn't even let her give him anything for the pain because stitches weren't enough to warrant pain medication according to DOC guidelines. They wouldn't waste a single cent on any of the inmates if they could help it and Clarke was sick of the bureaucracy and miles of red tape surrounding her work. It was actually surprising that she hadn't had to argue for the Xanax without Wells's prior approval, but then, Captain Blake had probably pushed that right along. They needed Murphy calm and compliant if they were going to get any answers out of him about why this happened so no one was too likely to argue about that sort of medication.

A single tear slid down Murphy's cheek as he continued to stare furiously at the wall and Clarke just couldn't take it anymore. "I'm going to give you another sedative to help you get some rest," she said reaching for a rolling cart of drawers that was kept inside the room incase of emergencies. She had already unlocked the drawer and was filling a syringe when she felt Captain Blake's hand on her arm.

"You sure about that Princess," he asked low enough that neither of the inmates would hear.

Clarke shook his arm off angrily and slammed the drawer shut. How dare he try to tell her how to do her job! How could anyone object to sedating someone who had been raped so violently that it tore them apart? You'd have to be a robot not to register the pain on John Murphy's face and she doubted very much that he'd get any sort of peaceful rest tonight. Day time horrors had a way of haunting your nights even on the most normal of days and Clarke had enough experience with that to feel empathy toward Murphy and his situation.

Unless Captain Blake had a medical degree hidden in his uptight ass and could use it to voice a legitimate complaint, he had no business trying to stop her treating _her_ patient. The prison's budget be damned, she thought as she approached the bed. She'd make up an excuse when she was doing the paperwork, say that he'd gotten aggressive during examination or something, but nothing was going to stop her from administering what little comfort she could in that moment.

Murphy's eyes met her sympathetic ones and he nodded once, but turned his head away as she neared. Clarke inserted the needle gently and administered a half dose. Not enough to knock him out, but enough that he should be able to get a few hours of peaceful sleep. Maybe she couldn't undo every injustice that had been done to him in this hell hole, but she could at least give him that.

After properly disposing of the needle and washing her hands, Clarke headed back to her office, not waiting to hear what Captain Blake thought of her decision and was grateful when she saw that for once he had no intention of following her. No name nurse informed her, a bit sourly, that she had three new patients to see as soon as Clarke came in sight of the regular nurses station. She sighed, ignoring the woman's negative attitude and picked up a chart.

Getting lunch out of the cafeteria was a risky business. The inmates that worked in the kitchen would never admit to messing with the staff's food for fear of losing such a cushy work detail, but she was positive most of them did awful things to the food when no one was looking. That meant that today Clarke had a hard choice to make. Risk the cafeteria food, buy cheap junk food out of the vending machine and suffer through the inevitable sugar high, or go hungry until the end of her shift. Normally she brought her lunch, but she'd been in too much of a rush this morning so, with regret, she raided the vending machine in the small staff room and headed back to her office to eat.

She was halfway through a bag of skittles and a semi warm can of pepsi when a code blue sounded over the intercom. Clarke jumped up from her desk and started sprinting for the medical ward. When Clarke arrived, wide eyed and winded, she could see the nursing staff inside John Murphy's room. One of them was administering chest compressions while another shouted for the guards to take the other inmate out of the room.

Her soft soled tennis shoes slapped against the tiled floor as she pushed people aside to get to the bed. "I need 5 cc's of epinephrine now, she said checking the heart rate monitor and other vitals. One of the nurses handed her a syringe and she sunk it into Murphy's pliant flesh while a sickening feeling rapidly developed in the pit of her stomach.

Had she missed something? Did he have internal bleeding and she hadn't noticed it in her initial exam? Had the sedative been the wrong dosage? A million things went through her mind in the seconds that it took John Murphy's body to respond to the medicine, and when she saw that first small arc on the heart rate monitor she felt light headed with relief.

After stabilizing him, she stepped into the hallway to find out what exactly had happened. "Someone find me his chart," she barked at no one in particular. "I'm ordering an immediate MRI…" she started as a young blond nurse jumped to hand her the chart, but before her palm made contact with the binder, it was snatched away by none other than nurse no name.

Her face was stern and her eyes were narrowed right at Clarke. Too shocked to be angry, Clarke stared at her dumbfounded while the other nurses stopped what they were doing to stare at the two of them facing off in the hallway. Never in all the time that she had worked here had she experienced such wanton disobedience from one of the nurses and she could feel anger steadily rising in her chest. When Clarke looked around at the small assemblage, she was surprised to see most of them drop their eyes away from hers. What was going on here?

"I don't think that's a good idea," no name said almost smugly. That was when Clarke noticed Captain Blake step into the ward a few feet behind the the big man himself. It was a surprise to see Warden Jaha at the prison at all, let alone in medical, and a sense of foreboding settled around Clarke as she watched their silent approach.

"Thelonious," Clarke said staring around confused. "What is going on?" She didn't think anything of using his first name because she'd known him as long as she could remember. He'd been at every holiday and family get together she'd ever been to and she considered him more as a favored uncle than a boss, but she could tell immediately that addressing him so informally had been a mistake. He glanced around the assembled staff and he narrowed his eyes at her.

"Dr. Griffin," he said into the hushed room, "I would like for you to come speak with me in my office." His deep, commanding voice, that had always held so much warmth when speaking to her before, carried to every corner of the room with it's cold finality. "The rest of you, get back to work." He turned on his heel and left, expecting her to follow.

Clarke's cheeks flushed a brilliant pink and she kept her eyes on Thelonious's back, carefully not looking right or left as she crossed the room so as to avoid the staring eyes. Their progress down the hall led her close enough to Captain Blake that she could almost feel the heat radiating off his chest. Or maybe she was just imagining it because all of a sudden he seemed like the only person in the room not staring at her with accusations in their eyes, but he didn't say anything as they passed.

Throughout the long walk to the Thelonious's office, Clarke tried and tried to piece together what had happened to warrant a visit from the Warden himself. If this was just about her missing something during Murphy's examination she didn't understand why Thelonious was getting involved. He knew better than anyone that they didn't order extra tests unless the inmates were in dire need. He had implemented some of the harsher restrictions himself! Could it be that someone had found out that Charlotte had admitted to her that there was contraband in her cell that Clarke had failed to report? That was a serious accusation, but still not enough to warrant a visit from Thelonious. Her mind spun out every horrible possibility as her stomach twisted itself into a knot, but she continued to follow him silently all the same.

"Clarke," he began after he'd ushered her into his office and indicated that she should have a seat in one of his overstuffed, leather chairs. Thelonious's office fairly reeked of careless wealth and Clarke wondered, not for the first time, if he'd paid to furnish it this way out of pocket or if there was some kind of loophole in the budget that allowed for such extravagance. "Did you administer a second sedative to John Murphy after his arrival in the medical ward?" he continued after a brief pause. His eyes studied her reaction carefully from behind rimless glasses and Clarke was forcibly reminded that Wells wasn't the only Jaha that had studied psychology, although Wells had used his knowledge to go into practicing medicine rather than criminal law like his father.

"I did," she answered cautiously. In situations like this, even with a close family friend, it was best to keep your answers simple and to the point. There was no sense in speaking out of turn and getting yourself in deeper than you already were, she reminded herself.

"Was there a medical reason why you gave him a sedative?" he asked quietly, and she squirmed in her seat. Thelonious was good at reading people, it's what had made him such an effective lawyer, and he knew her well enough to know when she was lying, not that she was much good at it with strangers either. He had an unfair advantage with her though, having watched her grow up alongside Wells, and by now he knew _all_ of their mannerisms when they were lying. At the moment she was really struggling to keep her poker face on for all the good it would do under his scrutiny.

"You mean besides the fact that he was beaten and raped?" she asked briskly. Anger was better than fear and she felt her nervousness melt away as it's comforting heat took its place. He chose to ignore her outburst, but she was aware of the tightening in his jaw and attempted to compose herself. This was not Thelonious, her best friend's father, this was Warden Jaha, and for the first time in her life she felt the need to guard her tongue around him.

"Clarke have you been drinking today?" he asked after a few moments of silence.

Clarke's face flushed red and she glared at him. "No, Thelonious, I have not been drinking on the job," she said calmly but firmly even as her hands fisted on the arm rests. "What is this about Thelonious? So I gave John Murphy an extra sedative to help him sleep. That is hardly a crime!"

"No it isn't a crime to sedate a patient who needs it. However, abandoning you duties as an employee at a state penitentiary as well a doctor by allowing an inmate with questionable mental stability to have access to a restricted cart full of life threatening drugs is," he said with a little heat of his own.

Clarke visibly wilted in her seat. Everything became painfully clear in an instant. She could remember unlocking the drawer to get the sedative and she could remember Captain Blake grabbing her arm and exchanging angry words with him. She remembered administering the shot and disposing of the syringe, but as she played the events back in her head, she could not for the life of her remember relocking the drawer! Murphy must have seen her mistake and attempted to commit suicide, Clarke realized as her heart lurched painfully in her chest.

Clarke cradled her face in her palms as her heart sank in her chest, not caring a bit that Thelonious was still watching her. What had she done? Of all the mistakes that she had made, she'd never made one that put a patient's life in danger. This was worse even than that though. Not only had she facilitated Murphy's attempted suicide, she'd jeopardized the safety of every other inmate and staff member in the building by allowing a dangerous man access to enough drugs and weapons to kill someone. There were scalpels and a plenty of other dangerous tools locked inside that cart and any one of them could have been smuggled out of the ward to be used against someone later.

A thought occurred to her as she tried to process all of her emotions and it brought her abruptly back to the present. "Did Captain Blake tell you that I was drunk?" she asked, her anger rising swiftly in her chest. If they were trying to say that this was criminal negligence because she was drinking on the job rather than an honest mistake because of something Captain Blake said to someone, she'd kill him herself!

"Actually, it was a nurse in your wing that reported your apparent problem. She called shortly after the code was issued for John Murphy and Assistant Warden Kane appraised me of the situation directly after her call." Thelonious templed his hands in front of his face and peered at her over the tips of his fingers.

Nurse no name! That bitch! Clarke couldn't believe that, that woman had accused her of being under the influence! What was wrong with these people? Did they honestly not have enough going on in their own lives that they had to make up stories about her too? Three years she had worked here and not once had she failed to do anything other than her absolute best and this was how they repaid her!

"I take it that I should also be speaking with Captain Blake during the course of this investigation," Thelonious asked mildly as Clarke silently fumed.

"Wait. Investigation?" she asked, suddenly worried. An investigation could go on her permanent record and ruin her reputation as a doctor.

"Yes, as of right now you are on administrative leave, Clarke. If the board finds evidence of any criminal activities involving yourself or Mr. Murphy, you will be notified of the charges and suspended indefinitely."

"Charges? Surely no one is implying that I did this on purpose! It was an accident Thelonious. A simple mistake. I would never put someone, especially a patient in harms way. Surely you know that!" she said earnestly.

"Be that as it may, I will need you to submit to a blood alcohol test and a drug screening before you leave the building. You are hearby ordered to hand over any open cases you may have to Dr. Tsing and turn in your clearance badge. You are not to return to the premises pending the results of this ongoing investigation," he said formally.

"But, Thelonious," she started, only to be cut off.

"But nothing Clarke. Honestly, I'm disappointed in you. I would never have thought that Abby Griffin's daughter would show up for work dressed so sloppily with last night's mistakes showing clearly in her bloodshot eyes. This is out of my hands Clarke," he said and stood to dismiss her, disappointment written in every line of his body. It hurt to see it, but she wasn't going to let him see how much it bothered her so she stood and headed for the door without looking back.

She left the room with her head hanging down and guilt writhing around in her gut. Thelonious was right. The last few days had been completely out of character for her starting with taking Finn to the ranch and ending with possibly the biggest mistake of her career. No matter what results the investigators turned up or what punishment she received, it would never be enough to wash the stain that her guilt would leave behind.

Meeting anyone's eyes was unbearable as she drifted through the hallways leading back to her office. Once there, she gathered her things and headed to Dr. Tsing's office for her B.A.C. and drug test. He greeted her warmly enough and went on at some length about how he was sure this would all blow over, but nothing he said could ease the guilt eating away at her. The mistakes she made today could have cost lives and she would never forgive herself for it.

When they were finished, she thanked Dr. Tsing and headed for the guard station, ignoring nurse no name as she passed. Captain Blake was waiting for her when she arrived. None of the guards spoke to her as he accepted her badge and prepared to escort her out of the building, but she could feel their cold, accusatory stares like pin pricks on her skin and her shame intensified.

These were the lives she'd jeopardized with her carelessness, and they knew it. She couldn't even blame them for hating her. Clarke didn't know any of them particularly well, but everyone had family or friends and loved ones that they wanted to go home to and because of a stupid mistake, she could have stolen that from them. A small part of her wondered if her slow wits _had_ been caused by last nights over indulgence. She'd felt well enough to come to in this morning, but then again, she'd never made a mistake like this before, so she wasn't absolutely sure.

Captain Blake was a silent shadow walking beside her. He left her to wallow in her black thoughts all the way through the body scanner and sign out procedures, he even followed her out the doors and to her parking space, which seemed a little excessive, but after the mistakes she'd made today, she wasn't going to try to tell him how seriously to take his job.

"Clarke," he started to say as she unlocked her car and stepped in. She was surprised by his use of her first name and stopped halfway through inserting her keys in the ignition to look at him. "Look," he said letting go of her door and stepping back, "I'm sorry about all of this. If I hadn't distracted you maybe…"

"No Captain," she said starting her car, "none of this is your fault," she added sadly. He stared at her for a moment like he wanted to argue, but before he could say more, she simply shut her door and waited for him to step clear so that she could reverse out of her space. Clarke didn't want to hear anything else he had to say. It was her decision to give Murphy the extra sedative and even if Captain Blake hadn't tried to stop her the fault and responsibility was still hers. She should have checked to make sure everything was locked before hurrying out of the room plain and simple. But she hadn't and now she'd have to live with the consequences.

The drive back to her apartment was quiet. Listening to the radio would have been a distraction from the thoughts swirling around in her head, so she didn't bother turning it on as she drove. When she arrived, Clarke trudged numbly up the stairs, unlocked her door, and headed straight for the refrigerator. It may seem like a mistake to start drinking so shortly after being accused of being drunk at work, but Clarke honestly couldn't think of a better way to drown out the guilt pummeling away in her skull.

After three large glasses of wine she no longer cared that Finn still hadn't called. She didn't mind that she might lose her job and ruin her future. She didn't even care that all of her colleagues probably hated her. Oblivion would have been a wonderful reprieve, but despite all attempts to sleep, Clarke's brain just wouldn't stop churning out images of Murphy's heart stopping under her palms.

Clarke pushed herself off the bed and wobbly padded her way across the apartment to her studio. If the wine wouldn't help maybe she could release some of her negative emotions through art. It was the one thing she could always count on to soothe her in times of stress.

The room was small and almost utilitarian, but it had an entire wall of floor to ceiling windows that offered excellent light and Clarke could not have been happier with it. A canvas was already positioned on her easel just waiting for the stroke of her brush to bring it to life.

She made short work of preparing her pallet and began with a flourish. Time lost all meaning to Clarke when she was painting. It was as if the world fell away, or perhaps it just narrowed to only her hand on the brush as she coaxed the images in her head into life on the canvas. Either way, it was a relief to lose herself in it, to just simply be herself, unguarded and unhurried as the days emotions worked their way out of her and onto the canvas.

Hours passed and by the time she was done, the sun had long since set, and Clarke sat back to study the finished piece, paintbrush still in hand. A college art professor had once told her that painting was no more than the act of assigning colors to your emotions and then putting them on paper, and his wisdom was never more evident than in this painting.

Deep blues and dark grays mixed and mingled on the taught white cloth casting the subject in shadows. Peaches and pinks were likewise muted and flavored with darker shades so that as a whole the entire canvas looked bleak and imposing, but to Clarke it was exactly what it needed to be. The man in the painting was turned away, as if he too couldn't stand to look Clarke in the eye. His raven hair shown in stark moonlight with hints of blue highlights that made it appear to shift and dance, but it was his body that really conveyed Clarke's feelings.

She had painted him nude, hunched into a crouch on a very familiar forest path. It was one that she had tread not so long ago, but instead of the soft yellows and greens that she would normally associate with the forest surrounding her home, she had chosen to paint it at night. The shadows were long, dark and full of danger and her subject seemed to sense it because it was into those shadows he was gazing.

He was alone and vulnerable as he waited for a nightmare to step out of the darkness, but his posture was neither cowed or afraid, simply ready. Ready to face whatever came after. Clarke sat her brush aside and stepped away. She felt better than she had in days even though her eyes burned with strain and the seriousness of the day still loomed in the back of her mind.

Flicking off the overhead lights, she left the studio and headed straight for bed, not even bothering to wash up or change clothes before falling into it. Clarke fell asleep almost immediately and for the first time in a long time she didn't worry about the nightmares that usually plagued her rest. For once, she felt ready to face what was coming.


	3. Fast Friends and Bitter Enemies

The first two days of her mandatory absence, Clarke didn't leave the loft. She didn't cook or clean, in fact she barely ate and hadn't bothered to put on actual clothes either. After ignoring several calls from her mother, she let her cell phone run dead and refused to charge it. Her world narrowed to the three plain white walls of her studio and the colors on her palette.

It had been a long time since she'd just stopped everything and focused only on her art and it actually felt really good to just take everything she was feeling out on the canvas. The painting she was working on now was a bold abstract of the view outside her window. It wasn't her most thought provoking piece, but the repetitive motion of her brush against the rough fabric was soothing and it wasn't like anyone was likely to see the finished product anyway. Despite Wells' repeated attempts to get Clarke to display her work, she steadfastly refused. Most of her paintings were like entries into a diary and she couldn't bring herself to share them with random strangers. Aside from a few that she'd painted specifically for family or friends, her works were stored in her studio or hung throughout her apartment and she was perfectly content to keep it that way.

Getting back in touch with her artistic side was bliss, but after days shut inside, the apartment was becoming claustrophobic even for an introvert like Clarke. She tried to keep her mind and her hands busy to distract herself from everything going on, but by the third day, Clarke was positive that she was going mad. If she didn't get out soon, there was a very real possibility that she'd turn into one of those reclusive shut ins that hated the outside world. So, she got in the shower, fixed her hair and put on a cute, brightly colored cotton sun dress, determined to do something productive. Being clean and respectably dressed went a long way towards elevating her mood and she was fairly bouncing by the time she came out of her bedroom. Stopping only to gather her purse and keys, she headed out the door.

Three blocks from the industrial building turned clothing boutique and loft apartment that she currently called home was a bustling farmers market that sold the freshest food to be found this time of year. There were tons of stalls selling souvenirs and trinkets for the tourist and chefs from all around the city got their produce and meat there. Clarke loved to just walk around looking at all of the different customers and vendors strolling around in the hot, sticky summer air. The market always had a fair like atmosphere with new discoveries around every corner that never failed to put Clarke in a good mood and today was no exception.

She was poking around a stand selling handmade silver jewelry when she was jostled aside by a pair of large tattooed forearms. Clarke was about to turn and give the rude customer an ear full, but when she followed the arms back to the muscular chest and further to the handsomely tanned face stretched in a mischievous grin, she stopped in her tracks.

"Lincoln?" Clarke exclaimed as he laughed and pulled her into a fierce hug.

"Long time no see Clarkey," he said ruffling her hair and using the annoying nickname he'd bestowed on her in college. Fortunately for her it hadn't really caught on with their other classmates, so she was spared the horror of having loads of people calling her that.

"No kidding," she said smiling brightly up at him. "It's been years!"

"Well I'm not the one that became some hotshot doctor who didn't have time for anyone," he said ruffling her hair again.

"Well I'm not the one who's became a hotshot lawyer that's so busy prosecuting the bad guys that they can't catch up with old friends," she said batting his hands away and smoothing her hair back into place.

"I am pretty great, I'm not gonna lie," he said smirking.

Clarke rolled her eyes and laughed. "Good to see you haven't changed."

"Great things never do Clarke," he said and she smirked. Even through all of his boasting, Clarke could tell that he was the same old down to earth guy she'd met in college. Lincoln, like her, was a legacy at school and he too had his foot in all the right doors, but unlike her, he'd actually enjoyed it.

Clarke had never been overly impressed with the social elite, and other than a few obligatory dinner parties and fund raising events that her mother forced her to go to every year, she had managed to, for the most part, stay out of those circles. Lincoln on the other hand, had embraced the life he was born into with both arms wide open. He rowed crew, went to all the wild parties, and quickly became someone to know around campus. Most people would never have believed that someone as socially awkward as Clarke, would have anything in common with a self proclaimed wild card like Lincoln, but what most people didn't realize is that for every night Lincoln spent doing keg stands with his fraternity brothers, he spent two in the library hitting the books.

The week before their freshman finals, Clarke had been pulling an all nighter in her favorite nook in the library, when Lincoln had stumbled into her hidey hole with a stack of books in his hands and an apologetic smile on his face. He'd gone on to explain how he'd seen her in a couple of his classes and he'd asked, in that charming way only he could manage, if she'd be so kind as to help him study.

Skeptical at first, Clarke had reluctantly agreed to help but, much to her surprise, she found that she actually really liked Lincoln. After the shared horror of their first finals week was over, they'd become fast friends. For nearly eight years, while Clarke finished med school and Lincoln became a lawyer, they'd been nearly inseparable, but then Clarke left to do her residency and Lincoln started working for an upscale attorney's office and they'd drifted apart. She remembered her mother mentioning that "the wild boy from school" had taken a position as assistant district attorney in the city on one of their infrequent lunch dates, but Clarke had been too busy to try to reconnect with Lincoln at the time. It was a shock for her to realize that they'd been living in the same city together for nearly a year and hadn't managed to see each other before now.

"I can't believe you've been back in the city all this time and we haven't seen each other!" Clarke said linking her arm with his as they strolled through the stalls.

"Life's funny that way," he said casually and then pulled her to a stop at a stall selling hand painted scarves.

Looking at Lincoln bent over a selection of brightly colored scarves in his dark gray slacks and matching vest over an open necked shirt with the sleeves casually rolled up, it was hard to believe that he was the senator's son. His laid back style of dress and friendly attitude was so completely incongruous with his father's stiff collared formality or his mother's coiffed perfection that Clarke sometimes wondered if he'd even been raised in the same house.

Clarke had gotten to know his family quite well during the time they'd spent together in school and while she couldn't say that either of his parents were particularly open or warm, they'd always been very nice to Clarke in a formal sort of way. Even though she and Lincoln never met before Harvard, they'd grown up in the same city and their parents knew each other, so more often than not, they found themselves at the same social events during school vacations which is when she'd introduced him to Wells.

She smiled thinking about how oblivious Lincoln had been to Wells's jealousy over their friendship at first. It was so out of character for Wells, but Lincoln took it all in stride, like he did most things, and before long Wells warmed up to him the same way Clarke had. It was hard to resist Lincoln's easy going charm. That, combined with a razor sharp mind, made Lincoln a very formidable lawyer and it made Clarke happy to see how well he was doing for himself.

"It is indeed," she said with a small smile on her face as she watched him sift through through several racks, looking for what, she couldn't begin to guess. "I know that you're very fashion forward, but I think those are women's scarves," she said, unable to resist. Lincoln smiled over his shoulder at her, unflappable as ever, as she laughed at him.

"Yes my darling, but don't I look fabulous?" he said with an exaggerated lisp as he threw a horrible green and teal scarf with amorphous red blobs that may have been lady bugs around his neck and flipped his aviators down his forehead and onto his nose.

Clarke snorted and giggled as he pranced around the stall like a peacock and preened in front of the mirrors, but she stayed safely outside the stall.

"Actually," he said, putting the scarf back on its hanger and winking at the dour looking vendor, "I'm looking for something for my girlfriend."

"That's what they all say," Clarke snickered, but Lincoln ignored her sass and continuing his search. "What's she like?" Clarke asked when she realized that he was pretty serious about the topic.

"Her name is Octavia and she's amazing Clarke," he said turning back to her. She could see something different than she'd ever seen in his eyes before as he told her all about the stylist he'd met at one of the trendy new clubs by the water front. Regardless of what Clarke thought about meeting women in clubs, she couldn't deny that his face lit up in a completely adorable way, as he went on at length about all of her different virtues, so she smiled and made all the appropriate noises when he paused long enough for her to make them. "You should meet us tonight!" he said several minutes later when he finally finished describing Octavia's eclectic taste in accessories which explained his purchase of two very pretty blue scarves, one azure with bright burst of yellow here and there and the other a deep navy with romantic red peonies dotted along its length.

"I don't know Lincoln," she hesitated. "I don't want to be the third wheel," she said feeling slightly uncomfortable with the idea of meeting them at a swanky downtown nightclub for drinks.

"Come on Clarkey," he said tugging at an escaped lock of her hair. "We both know how you are. You'll mope and complain all up until its time to go, but then once you get there you'll have a good time."

"You know me too well," she said smiling at him. He let out a whoop of victory that startled two nearby women, but one look in his direction and their stern expressions melted into flirty smiles. Lincoln, of course, ignored them both as he pulled Clarke along the sidewalk and discussed where she was living while he waited to hail a cab.

"I'll see you at eight then?" he asked as put one foot inside the dark interior to of the car.

"Sure," she said closing the door behind him and stepping away from the curb. Clarke waved as his cab turned a corner and headed out of sight before making her way back through the market on her way to her apartment. Tonight was sure to be interesting and she'd need the afternoon to prepare.

At 7:55 Clarke was standing on the sidewalk in front of a squat concrete building covered entirely in graffiti, feeling a little out of place in her three quarter, lace sleeved, black cocktail dress. She'd flat ironed and then lightly curled and pinned her hair so that it lay smoothly down her back and shoulders in large playful curls instead of her usual unruly ones. After deciding to down play her makeup with a soft smokey eye and some pink lip gloss, she felt like she looked passable, but that was before she felt the hawk like gaze of the other patrons fall on her.

Apparently the clientele for "Grounders" was a little more risque than what Lincoln had let on. Looking down the roped off line of people waiting to get in, she saw several women in outfits that she could only describe as lingerie, with hair in bobs of every color you could imagine. Most of the men where similarly outlandish looking to Clarke, with their not so ironic mustaches, body piercings and multitude of tattoos.

Clarke was already thinking of an excuse to give Lincoln and turning to hail a cab when she saw a pixie like girl in shiny silver leggings and an asymmetrical blue top slashed across the chest artistically, hurtling towards her on the sidewalk. Clarke had only a moment to decide whether to panic over the impending attack or marvel at the girls ability to run in four inch spike heals before the girl crashed into her in a tangle of raven hair and fiery blue eyes.

"Clarke!" the girl shouted, nearly bouncing up and down as she pulled away. "I'm so glad you're here! Lincoln has told me so much about you," she said taking Clarke's hands as she pulled her away from the curb.

"Nothing bad I hope," Clarke said laughing awkwardly as she finally spotted Lincoln over Octavia's shoulder, making his way quickly towards them. When he arrived he put his arm around Octavia's waist, pulling her a little away and shooting Clarke an exasperated grin as if Octavia's exuberance was something he dealt with frequently, but with good grace and Clarke couldn't help but smile at the pair.

"Calm down, babe. You're freaking Clarkey out," he said, but smiled indulgently when Octavia turned her big blue eyes up to his face in alarm.

"Oh Clarke, I'm so sorry! I know Lincoln told me you're sort of nervous or jittery or whatever, but I was just so excited to meet you, and…" Octavia gushed, but Clarke cut her off before she could pass out from lack of oxygen.

"It's okay," she said glaring at Lincoln. "I just wasn't expecting something like this," Clarke said glancing from Octavia's outfit down to her own.

"What? You look hot!" Octavia exclaimed, pulling out of Lincoln's grasp and circling Clarke to survey the entire outfit.

"Thanks," Clarke said flushing hotly as she noticed several other people staring. "I was just thinking that maybe it doesn't fit in here," she trailed off glancing again at the line of people waiting at the door. "Do you think they'll even let me in?" she asked with a half laugh.

"Of course they will. Besides, Lincoln knows Anya, the owner, so it wouldn't matter anyway," Octavia said as she pulled Clarke toward the closed double door. A muscle bound bouncer with a shaved head and sunglasses smiled down at Octavia as she neared and then unhooked a velvet covered rope to let them inside while the crowd behind them groaned and grumbled. One look from the giant holding the rope was enough to quiet them down though and Lincoln smiled at the man in acknowledgment as they passed.

The closer they got to the closed double doors the louder the music became until finally Clarke could practically feel it vibrating her chest. She was completely unprepared for what she saw when another bouncer, also all in black, threw open the doors to admit them onto a small balcony that overlooked the interior of the club. Wide carpeted stair cases led down from either side of the platform to a large, wide open dance floor. There were raised platforms for the bar and stage and Clarke could just barely make out tables dotting the perimeter.

Roving laser lights pulsed with the beat of the dubstep music blaring from the DJ booth, painting interesting patterns everywhere they touched. It was fascinating, but at the same time overwhelming as her brain tried to take it all in at once. In the dimness, Clarke couldn't even manage to make out exactly what color the walls were, and the mass of people on the dance floor looked like a writhing blob rather than individual people, and she felt a wave of nervousness wash over her. Here and there she could see people wearing glow sticks in the crowd and as she watched, a volley of bubbles drifted out over the seething mass from a machine near the DJ platform. This was nuts!

"Come on lets get some drinks!" Octavia shouted into Clarke's ear as she dragged her down the steps and into to crush of swaying bodies. Lincoln followed behind them, laughing at Clarke's discomfort as she was jostled on every side in the wake of Octavia's passing. Octavia, small though she was, seemed to have no problem whatsoever elbowing an opening through all the bodies, ignoring any protest, where Clarke was reduced to side shimmying and muttered apologies.

When they finally reached the bar, a dark mahogany affair that ran the entire length of one wall, Octavia shoved her way to the front and started waving for one of the bartenders. A tall darkly tanned woman with dirty blond hair and exotic feline features pushed away from the liquor display she'd been leaning against and strutted towards Octavia with a sly grin. Clarke watched in impressed silence as a single dark scowl sent an over excited customer, who had been waving his cash in her face, skittering away from the bar to be absorbed in the crowd. Much to Clarke's amusement, he emerged several yards down the bar and carefully avoided looking their way again.

"Octavia," the woman greeted when she was near enough not to have to yell. "I see you've brought a friend," she said eying Clarke speculatively.

"Anya," Lincoln said coming in behind them, "this is an old friend of mine. Clarke, Anya," he said gesturing between them, "Anya, Clarke," he finished with a smile.

"Welcome, Clarke," Anya said slowly letting the name roll off her tongue. Though she spoke English well, her cadence and slight accent indicated that it might not be her first language and Clarke was intrigued, wondering about the story behind this unlikely trio.

"Thank you," Clarke said stepping forward to extend a hand. It seemed like the polite thing to do, but judging by the smirk and hesitation on the other end, Clarke felt like she had committed some horrible faux paus.

"You're certainly broadening our social standing lately," Anya said turned back to Lincoln after quickly dropping Clarke's hand. "Soon we'll have to hire security for all our VIP guests," she added sarcastically, studiously ignoring the shocked look of anger on Clarke's face.

It was anyone's guess how Lincoln had ended up friends with this woman, because Clarke certainly had no idea. She was unpleasant and didn't seem like the type to fall for his charms, so Clarke quickly ruled out passed lover. Perhaps they just knew each other from the club. Either way, there was definitely a story there, one that Clarke would pry out of him later.

"Someone's has to class up the joint," Lincoln said smiling broadly. "Left to your own devices you'd scare away all the customers."

"Some of them need to be scared away," Anya said scowling at a bartender who was flirting with a group of barely legal women while his portion of the bar went without drinks. Lincoln laughed, causing Anya to whip her head back around and scowl at him. "Enjoy yourselves," she said stalking off in the direction of her wayward employee.

Clarke felt a little bad for the guy who was about to be on the receiving end of what Clarke could only imagine was a very harsh conversation, but really he deserved it. Surely he must have known what he was getting into when he got hired here.

Octavia had stayed mostly silent through the conversation, but at some point while they had been exchanging… pleasantries with Anya, she'd managed to get three shots of an ominous looking clear liquid and a couple of bottles of beer for chasers.

"Here's yours," she said shoving a shot glass into Clarke's stiff fingers and then passing one to Lincoln with a smile.

"It smells like birthday cake," Clarke said sniffing suspiciously at her glass. The fumes were making her eyes water so she had no doubt that whatever it was, it wasn't going to go down easy.

Octavia laughed and clinked their glasses together. "Cheers," she cried, upending her glass and swallowing it down in one gulp, leaving Clark little choice but to follow suit.

"Jesus," Clarke exclaimed as it burned its way down her throat. It was definitely vodka, and not exactly in the variety that Clarke was used to.

"No?" Octavia asked and laughed loudly, clapping Clarke helpfully on the back as she choked. "I love that flavor! What do you usually have?" she asked waving down a bartender without waiting for a reply. "Three Washington Apples," she said slamming her cash down on the counter only to have it shoved back toward her by a cross looking Anya who was hovering near their server.

"You don't pay here," Anya said firmly and Clarke noticed the renewed speed with which the bartender poured their drinks. Clarke could only imagine how hard of a boss this lady would be to work for.

Not wanting to show weakness or offend Anya by refusing the drink that she really didn't want, Clarke accepted the glass with only a small grimace at Lincoln and slugged it down. This one went a bit easier, but Clarke's eyes still watered as she worked to control her facial expression.

"Another?" Octavia said turning back to both of them and Clarke was relieved to see that Lincoln was emphatically shaking his head no.

"Not all of us are in your league," Lincoln said kissing the frown from her forehead. "Maybe lets just stick with the beer and find a table," he suggested tugging her away from the bar and carefully skirting the dance floor.

Clarke followed in their wake keeping an eye out for flailing limbs and carefully cradling her beer. "So," she started awkwardly as they squeezed into an empty booth, "is this where you two met?" The noise level was more acceptable this far away from the Dj booth and she was glad that she didn't have to scream her questions over the music.

"Yes," Octavia squealed and without further prompting she launched into the story of how she'd been celebrating the end of a bad relationship by cutting loose with a couple of girlfriends when she'd bumped into Lincoln, literally.

"She almost flattened me," he said chuckling at the outraged look on Octavia's face.

"Well you didn't complain too much after we started dancing," she said grinning smugly up at him.

"No I didn't," he said with eyes only for her.

It was making Clarke uncomfortable watching the intimate display across the table. Not because she'd never seen Lincoln with a girl before. He'd been a notorious playboy in school and on the rare occasions that he'd managed to drag her out of the library, she'd seen many a woman succumb to his strange magic. No, it was because their obvious affection reminded her painfully of the fact that she still hadn't talked to Finn or addressed the fact that he'd apparently made her the other woman. The very idea that she might have ruined someone else's happiness by being with Finn was repugnant to her and she unconsciously wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"Sorry Clarkey," Lincoln said nudging her playfully. "We can get a little carried away," he said grinning down at an anxious looking Octavia.

"I'm so sorry Clarke. That was so rude of us!" she exclaimed edging away from Lincoln and closer to Clarke across the round booth seats.

"No, no," Clarke quickly reassured her, but much to her embarrassment, her eyes welled up with tears and she quickly looked down. "It's not you two. It's me," she said to her lap. "I know, how cliche right?" she laughed half heartedly at herself.

Octavia's arms were thin, but surprisingly strong as they wrapped around Clarke and she felt Lincoln lean across the table and put a hand on her shoulder. The unexpected kindness from Octavia and much missed, rock steady support from Lincoln, overwhelmed her and Clarke half coughed, half sobbed as she covered her face with her small hands.

Whether it was the alcohol or just being generally overwhelmed with everything going on, Clarke found the story of the past week spilling out of her mouth before she could stop it. She left out the more embarrassing and intimate details of her weekend with Finn, but not much else and rather than the expected pity and shame, she was surprised to find Lincoln's tiny little girlfriends eyes fill up with anger.

"What a shit!" Octavia exclaimed releasing Clarke's shoulders and slamming her fist down on the table, making the bottles rattle and Clarke jump. Lincoln just sat back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest scowling.

"It's completely ridiculous for you to be on administrative leave for this long. It has been plenty of time for them to determine that you had no alcohol or drugs in your system and it would be a serious mistake for them to file criminal negligence charges against you," Lincoln said menacingly.

Clarke laughed at Lincoln's familiar solidarity and the tension broke. "I guess it's good to know a good lawyer," she said and smiled when Octavia took her hand.

Lincoln just smiled and started sliding out of the booth as Octavia shouted out different ways to castrate men like Finn. "I think I'll go get us some more drinks," he added before disappearing into the crowd.

Octavia began carefully wiping away the mess Clarke had made of her make up with a cocktail napkin dampened in the condensation on her beer bottle and for once in her life Clarke didn't shy away from the overly personal contact. She was strangely at ease with Octavia even though they'd only met a few hours ago which was totally out of character for Clarke, but whatever. She wasn't going to poke at it. As she shut her eyes and took a deep breath, she wondered if it had anything to do with the shots or if Octavia was just one of those people that you meet and immediately know you'll be close friends with. Either way she was glad that her emotional melt down had happened here rather somewhere else.

When Lincoln returned with a tray of shot glasses and a few chasers, Octavia grabbed Clarke's hand and ushered her through the crowd into the bathroom where Clarke washed her face and blew her nose.

"I don't know who he is, but you're too hot to be crying over him," a girl with a partially shaved head and thick black eye make up said while she was washing her hands and eying the two of them in the mirror.

Octavia burst into laughter at the same time Clarke flushed a deep red. The girl passed them her eye liner and Octavia leaned in to give Clarke a touch up. For once Clarke didn't worry about the hygienic concerns or showing weakness in front of strangers. She just hopped up on the counter and let the two girls work their magic.

"All done," the girl said with a satisfied smirk, putting the last of her makeup back into her tiny purse.

"We better get back out there," Clarke said smiling and thanking the girl with the makeup as she winked and slid back into the crowd.

"One more thing," Octavia said, leaning up on her tiptoes and reaching towards Clarke's head.

For one crazy minute, Clarke thought she was about to kiss her, but she let out a relieved laugh when she felt small hands ruffling her careful curls instead. Pins went flying everywhere and she felt all of her hard work come undone in seconds but, she discovered that she didn't really care.

"You need to loosen up a little, Clarkey," Octavia said, pulling her off the counter and spinning her towards the mirror.

Clarke looked at the bold make up and sexily mussed hair and gaped. She'd never have been able to pull off this look on her own! "Wow," she said reaching to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear only to have the hand slapped away by Octavia. "Thank you Octavia," she said grinning at her reflection.

"No problem babe," Octavia said smiling widely. "It's sort of what I do," she added pulling Clarke away from the mirrors before she had a chance to further mess up her creation. "And my friends call me O," she said into Clarke's ear as they exited the relatively quiet bathroom into the noise of the club.

Lincoln was waiting for them in the booth with a half drank beer in one hand and the other casually thrown over the back of the seat as he observed the crowd. He looked relaxed and handsome sitting there totally at ease and Clarke smiled at the obvious adoration on her new friends face. It would be nice to see Lincoln with someone like Octavia. Despite their differences, the couple seemed to really care about each other and he needed that in his life.

Lincoln's eyebrows rose when he got a proper look at Clarke and if it weren't for Octavia's tinkling laughter as she threw herself into Lincoln's lap, Clarke might have felt awkward. It was surprisingly easy to be around the other girl and Clarke picked up a shot as soon as she sat back down, more than ready to put Finn behind her.

"To hell with Finn," Clarke said raising her shot glass while the others quickly followed suit.

"To hell with douche bags," Octavia said clinking their glasses together. Lincoln just happily raised his glass to theirs in silent agreement before throwing back his shot.

It was amazing how fast the little tray full of shots emptied, and by the last one Clarke was feeling loose like jelly so it wasn't hard, when Octavia decided they should dance, for Clarke to exclaim what a great idea that was! The girls made their way out onto the dance floor with Lincoln tagging along behind them quietly, but it wasn't long before he got into the rhythm.

Octavia shimmied and ground against him to the beat of the music while Clarke stumbled around in what she was sure was the most awkward looking dance on the planet, but she just didn't care. She was having too much fun to bother with worrying about what other people were thinking and to be honest, standing next to Octavia and Lincoln, she doubted anyone was even looking at her.

The pair made a spectacular sight with Octavia whipping her slim body around his and Lincoln supporting her and swaying to the music. Clarke already knew that Lincoln could move. He'd spent a good portion of his life at one social event or another and it would have been terribly embarrassing to his family if he didn't know how to dance, which is why his mother had forced him into ballroom dance lessons from an early age but, Octavia on the other hand looked like she'd had some kind of formal hip hop training. Her movements weren't as controlled or as polished as Lincolns, but she danced with such emotion that it was hard not to stare. Eventually a small circle opened up around them as people pushed back to give them space and watch.

Clarke cheered along with everyone else when the song switched and Lincoln pulled Octavia to him for a thorough kiss. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a disturbance in the crowd, but she didn't think anything of it until Octavia's head snapped up and she turned to Clarke looking panicked.

"Shit! I can't believe he found us!" she exclaimed tugging Clarke through the crowd away from Lincoln.

"Who?" Clarke asked confused, but stumbling along behind her regardless.

"My pig headed brother!" Octavia shouted over her shoulder at Clarke with angry eyes. "He doesn't approve of Lincoln and me," she added bitterly.

"What's wrong with Lincoln?" Clarke asked, outraged for her friend. How could anyone _not_ approve of Lincoln. He was a hard worker with a great job and personality, who genuinely cared about people. Most people would be thrilled to add him to their family!

"It's the age thing," Octavia said exasperated as they emerged onto the side walk outside. She glanced back once, looking for Lincoln, but continued to push Clarke towards the waiting cabs. "Look you better head home. I've got to go back in and save Lincoln." She rolled her eyes and opened the cab door for Clarke, surprisingly steady on her feet all things considered.

"Do you want me to stay and help?" she asked feeling foolish. If Octavia could roll her eyes and be nonchalant about everything then she really wasn't too worried about Lincoln, but felt like she should offer just incase.

"Nah, I got this," Octavia said with a wink and a grin. "But if you want you could come out with us again tomorrow. A friend of mine is having a party on Elk Lake and I know the DJ so it should be a good time!"

"That's nice of you but…" Clarke said hesitating half in half out of the cab.

"No buts!" Octavia exclaimed shoving her the rest of the way in with surprising force. "You'll love it and I want to see you again!"

"Okay, but what should I wear?" she asked grinning up at Octavia from the back seat.

"Lake clothes." It was obvious that Octavia thought this was enough information, but Clarke had no idea what "lake clothes" were and it must have shown on her face because Octavia sighed as she shut the door and continued their conversation through the open window. "I'm going shopping tomorrow for a client. Why don't you come with me and we'll find something for you too?"

"Sure sounds great. Lincoln has my number. Just give me a call in the morning and I'll meet you," Clarke called to Octavia as she bounded back up the sidewalk to the club entrance with a wave.

"Where too," the driver said gruffly. He was apparently not too happy about the time wasted while the girls hashed out their plan and Clarke reminded herself to give him an extra large tip as she gave him her address and he shot down the street.

The next day Clarke woke up laying face down, fully clothed on her bed with her phone ringing shrilly in her ear.

"Hello," Clarke said groggily into the wrong end of her phone. "Hello," she said again after rolling over and noticing her error. She flipped the phone around quickly to hear Octavia's laughter.

"How you feeling today Clarkey?" she asked innocently.

"Like death," Clarke groaned as the rays of light peeking through her curtains landed on her face.

"Well good because I'm on my way to your apartment to pick you up. Be there in ten," Octavia said before hanging up.

Clarke rolled off the bed mumbling angrily about young people's ability to recover from anything. A category that she clearly did not fall into anymore. Stripping off her clothes and letting them fall in a messy pile on her bedroom floor, she headed for the shower.

The water felt heavenly, but all too soon she heard her doorbell chiming from the living room. With a very unladylike curse, she stumbled out of the shower, wrapped herself in a towel and ran to open the door. Octavia burst into the loft in a whirlwind of raven hair and bubbly energy that had Clarke groaning all over again, but she smiled anyway because despite the ungodly hour and her pounding headache, she was happy to see Octavia again.

"Go get dressed!" Octavia exclaimed slapping Clarke's butt on her way to her room and laughing when Clarke yelped. "Put on shopping clothes!" she called as Clarke slammed her bedroom door.

Clarke had no idea what the hell "shopping clothes" were, but she decided that a light colored bra and panties would probably be good because you never knew what color clothes you'd be trying on and she didn't want them to show. Just as she was turning to her closet the bedroom door burst open and Octavia stormed into the room.

"What's taking so long?" she asked stopping to stare at Clarke questioningly.

"I'm trying to figure out what the hell shopping clothes are," Clarke said making air quotes and trying not to be embarrassed by her state of dress when Octavia so clearly wasn't.

"Oh," Octavia said looking puzzled. "Well you need something that's comfortable," she said heading for Clarke's closet. "And easy to take on and off without messing up your hair too bad."

Clarke stood frozen in the middle of the room as Octavia pawed carelessly through her closet looking in distaste at the casual business wear that Clarke had lined up in the front because it's what she usually wore to work. After a few moments of watching her grumble and push things to the side, Clarke decided that Octavia's inspection could take awhile so she wandered over to her vanity table and began piling her hair on top of her head in a messy top knot that seemed like the easiest style that Octavia might actually let her out of the house in. When she was finished she applied a thin layer of lip gloss and a few coats of mascara and called it good.

"This one I think," Octavia said laying out a thin summer dress in a riot of colors that Clarke had never even considered wearing before. It was shoved in the very back of her closet as soon as her mother's personal shopper was finished unloading everything and hadn't been looked at since.

"Oh not that one!" Clarke mumbled as she eyed her soft t-shirts and comfy blue jean shorts.

"What's wrong with this one?" Octavia asked stroking the soft fabric of the dress. "It's gorgeous and I bet this sweetheart neckline will make you boobs look great," she added smiling when Clarke wrapped a protective arm across her bust and flushed all the way from her toes to the roots of her hair.

Not for the first time in her life, Clarke cursed her fair skin and it's inability to hide her embarrassment. She crossed the room in a few brisk strides and slipped the dress on quickly. Octavia clapped and turned Clarke toward the long standing mirror a few feet away from her vanity. She had to admit that the dress didn't look half bad and she spun in a slow circle to watch it flare out around her hips.

"It's perfect!" Octavia crowed clapping her hands together. "Now come on lets go! We've got so much to do!"

Clarke found herself smiling as she snatched up her purse and keys and let Octavia pull her out the door. A cab was idling at the curb and they quickly slipped inside before screeching off towards the heart of the city.

After thirty minutes of traffic jams and testy retorts from their driver, they decided to just walk the rest of the way, so Clarke paid the driver while Octavia grumbled about not needing charity and the stepped out into the midday heat. The boutique section that Octavia was taking them too was only a few blocks away and for once in her life, Clarke was excited about visiting it. Shopping with girlfriends was something that she could honestly say she'd never done before, but she was looking forward to giving it a try. Something told her that they could be scraping bubble gum off benches or picking up litter in the park, but as long as Octavia was there, they'd still have a good time.

"Lets go in this one," Octavia said pulling them into a small, brightly colored store with an assortment of equally bright colored dresses on display in the window.

"What are we looking for?" Clarke asked as she glanced curiously around the lively interior. It was clear from both the attendants and the patrons that this was an establishment for the moderately fashion forward crowd. Clarke wasn't really surprised when one of the cashiers looked up, spotted them and waved cheerily at Octavia, who returned the wave and began poking through the racks of clothes.

"Well my client needs some things for vacation upstate. Nothing too formal, but not too casual either. Needs to impress her boyfriends family without looking like she's trying, ya know?" Clarke murmured her understanding as she hovered behind Octavia looking curiously at the outfits she was putting so effortlessly together. "She looks best in cool colors, and she doesn't have much of chest, so I've got to be more careful about the tops, but I think this," she held up a handkerchief tank in a sweet floral print up for Clarke's inspection, "will go great with these shorts. She's got a cute pair of flats that will match already so she won't have to pack a bunch of shoes. She hates packing," she added as she carelessly tossed a few more shirts over her arm.

"I think as long as she pairs it with some chunky layered necklaces and a few bangles, the bust won't look too… bleh, ya know?" she asked eying Clarke, who was listening with rapt attention.

It was amazing to her that some people seemed to just get fashion and what things would compliment not only other things you were wearing, but also your body type and coloring. Clarke normally just went with whatever fit comfortably and was appropriate for the occasion. Noticing that Octavia seemed to want an answer, Clarke bobbed her head stupidly and continued to follow her around the store.

"What do you do if she doesn't like it?" Clarke asked while studying the growing stack of clothes draped over Octavia's arm. From her own experience with her mother's personal shopper, if she didn't like something it was left in the back of her closet until she found a way to get rid of it and that was that, but she couldn't imagine that most people would want to foot the bill for a bunch of clothes that they didn't like.

"Well," Octavia said with a small shrug, "if she really doesn't like it she'll tell me and I'll return it, but I'm pretty good at my job, babe," she said with a small chuckle.

"Obviously," Clarke said with a grin.

"Sometimes, I do tend to go a little overboard on the quantity," Octavia said rolling her eyes, "but I like my clients to have some options. Especially if it's for a formal event. I may choose ten dresses and return nine of them for something like that."

"Oh," was all Clarke could think of to say.

"One day I hope I can land some big clients," Octavia said wistfully as she swept up to the counter and deposited her load. "Then I can go with them to fittings and coordinate things with stylists and designers. I might even be able to start designing some things of my own eventually," she said gazing at the piles of soft fabric adoringly.

The sales associate behind the counter chuckled at Octavia's dreamy expression and rolled her eyes heavenward. Clearly Octavia was well known around these parts.

"Jesse here thinks its all just pipe dreams," she said smiling at the girl as she pulled out her credit card, "but just you watch Clarkey. One day, this whole city's gonna know my name!" she added with enough ferocity that only a fool would have disagreed.

"Of course this isn't all I do," Octavia said as they left the store. "I also do hair and make up, I do some freelance work for a party planning company sometimes. I used to work at a club downtown on the weekends too, but my brother didn't like it," she added with a scowl.

Her brother seemed like kind of a jerk, in Clarke's biased opinion, but she stayed silent as they strolled down the busy street together. Octavia, Clarke was finding, didn't really need much prompting in the conversation department. And Clarke was happy just to listen as she absorbed all the tiny personal details that made up Octavia's life.

After an hour or so in which Clarke started to seriously wonder if they were going to be able to carry all of the bags Octavia was filling, the girl in question called a halt for lunch. They ate at a cute sidewalk cafe under the shade of a large red umbrella and Clarke realized as they sipped fruity cocktails at a completely indecent hour, that she hadn't laughed this much in ages. It was sort of fun to just be a girl and do girl things, and fun was something that her life had been sorely missing lately.

"So," Octavia began as she polished off the last of her sandwich, "do you prefer one or two piece swimsuits?"

The question was so off topic that it took Clarke a minute to respond. "One I suppose," she said looking sheepishly at Octavia's rolling eyes. Bikinis had always made her feel horribly like she was standing around in public in her underwear and after a lifetime of her mother's austere modesty, even one piece suits made her uncomfortable. To be quite honest, Clarke wasn't sure she could recall a time that she'd ever been swimming with anyone other than her close family and friends. Lincoln had dragged her to a number of Luaus in school, but she'd always gotten away with wearing skirts and tank tops over her swim suit and she'd never actually gotten in the water, much to Lincoln's irritation.

"How did I know you were going to say that?" she said with a grimace. "Look," Octavia said as she grasped Clarke's hand across the table, "will you just trust me for the day?"

It was hard to deny her anything while she was staring so confidently into Clarke's eyes and for once, Clarke shrugged her shoulders and let go of her control over the situation. Who cared if she looked ridiculous? It was just going to be a bunch of strangers that she'd likely never see again anyway. Octavia squealed when Clarke nodded her assent and they set off for another round of boutiques.

When Clarke finally made it back to her loft a few hours later, she was exhausted and laden down with three bags full of things that Octavia had picked out for her.

"I've seen your closet Clarke and yikes!" she'd said when Clarke asked why they were shopping for non "lake clothes" at a trendy little shop on the corner of a trendy little street.

There were several things inside the bags that Clarke wasn't sure she'd ever have the courage to wear outside the dressing room, but just as she'd promised, she put her trust in Octavia's judgment. She'd tried on more outfits today than she'd tried on possibly her whole life, and despite how tiring it was, Clarke had to admit that she'd had fun. Octavia was smart and funny and seemed to have a real eye for things, something that the artistic side of Clarke really related to. No matter if the outfit passed Octavia's eagle eyed inspection or not, she seemed to genuinely enjoy watching Clarke have fun and never once got impatient or upset when she couldn't figure out how the hell something went on or how many times she'd had to dart back into the racks for a different size. All and all it had been a really wonderful day.

Clarke was in such a good mood, despite her aching feet, that she smiled all the way up the stairs to the loft and was still smiling when she flopped onto her bed for a much deserved nap. Just before she dozed off, her phone chimed in her pocket. With a grunt, Clarke flipped onto her back and dug her phone out.

 _We'll be at your house at four to help you get ready. Xoxo._ Octavia had insisted that she and Lincoln would pick her up since she didn't know where they were going anyway and despite the fact that Clarke hated to be stranded somewhere, completely dependent on someone else for a way home, she forced down her control issues for the second time in one day, and agreed.

Clarke had invited O to stay at the loft until it was time for Lincoln to pick them up, but the other girl had declined, saying that she had to drop off her clients clothes and run back to her apartment to change anyway. It was sort of odd, now that Clarke thought about it, that they hadn't just both gone back to Octavia's apartment. She already had her outfit for the night, compliments of Octavia's fashion expertise, and it would have made more sense to go there rather than have Lincoln drive all over the city to get them, but Octavia had acted a little odd when Clarke suggested it.

More than once today, Clarke had gotten the feeling that Octavia came from a family with little money and she was perceptive enough to know that Octavia was embarrassed by it. Maybe that was why, or maybe it was that she still lived with her older brother. Something she'd mentioned in passing once and then quickly changed the subject before Clarke could get any ideas about asking questions. Either way, it wasn't any of Clarke's business, so she didn't press the issue.

At exactly four, Octavia once again burst into Clarke's apartment only this time she was carrying an ominous looking black case in one hand and a bag full of hair care supplies in the other. Clarke shot one pleading glance at Lincoln, who only shrugged - the traitor - before Octavia pulled her back into her bedroom and started setting things out all over Clarke's vanity table.

"I can't believe you aren't dressed yet!" Octavia exclaimed and Clarke scampered off to her closet to change.

It wasn't that she was trying to be difficult or cause them to be late, it was more that she'd put on the bathing suit, a cute chocolate bikini that, by bikini standards Clarke guessed was pretty modest, but she still felt completely exposed in it. Looking at herself in the closet mirror, she had to admit that the wide straps and heavy fabric _were_ comfortable and it did offer lots of support for which she was grateful. And the chunky gold rings linking it all together did bring out the honey undertones in her skin the way Octavia said. Even the bottoms were modest and simply cut, but she couldn't help but stare and cross her arms self consciously over the large bare expanse of her stomach. She turned sideways and eyed the little pooch her stomach made as it jutted out from between her hip bones and tried to suck it in.

Clarke's face flushed crimson when Octavia chose that moment to open the door and see what was taking her so long. "Get over it, babe," the girl said taking Clarke's arms and dragging them away from her stomach. "That suit is adorbs and you've got the bod to pull it off! I wish I had enough up top to pull off that cut," she added with a laugh at her much smaller chest.

"Are you kidding me?" Clarke asked in exasperation. "You look amazing!" It was true. Octavia's long bronze legs looked spectacular in her blue jean cut offs and she was rocking her cyan bikini top with no shirt so Clarke could see every one of her delicately defined abs. She didn't even want to think about how much time in the gym she'd have to spend to get that kind of tone. Everything about Clarke looked fleshy and soft especially when compared with Octavia.

"Thanks," she said with a smirk. "Now come on!" Octavia had already laid out the blue jean short shorts with their delicate lace patterns, that she'd picked out for Clarke earlier in the day, along with the gauzy cream colored cover up that had been her only concession to Clarke's modesty.

"You don't think it looks a little… tacky?" Clarke asked when she slipped it over her head. She had asked the same thing in the store when she tried it on and Octavia had insisted the bold swim suit showing through the sheer fabric only enhanced the beachy look they were going for.

"No," was Octavia's only answer as she shoved Clarke down in the chair in front of the vanity and set to work smearing product in her hair and starting on her make up.

Thirty minutes later, they emerged into the living area to find Lincoln sprawled across the couch with a bottle of Clarke's craft beer in one hand and ESPN on the TV. Clarke's hair hung long and loose over her shoulders in gentle waves that Octavia assured her wouldn't frizz and her make up was subtle and supposedly water proof, something that made Clarke nervous just thinking about. Overall though, she had to admit that she was feeling pretty good about the upcoming party.

"Pre-gaming as usual," Clarke said smirking at Lincoln before swiping the beer out of his hand.

"Beauty takes time," he said in what could only be bad imitation of Octavia's voice, "and I get bored," he added when Octavia swatted him.

"Well lucky for you, we're finished," Octavia said smiling at him as she pulled him off the couch.

They left the house in good spirits and road out of the city with the top of Lincoln's convertible down and the radio turned all the way up. For the first time in more than a week, Clarke didn't even think about Finn and how much of a coward he was being by not addressing the problem or why the inquiry at work was taking so long. She just sat back and enjoyed the moist summer air on her skin and the miles of blue skies over head.


	4. Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

The party was in full swing when they arrived at a secluded house right on the lake. There were cars parked all along the long lane to the cabin and Lincoln squeezed his car into the first empty spot before helping the girls get their bags out of the back.

Octavia was fairly bursting with excitement as they made their way up the shaded gravel lane towards the party. Clarke noticed that the thumping music and laughter were getting louder with each step and she smiled when she saw Octavia start to walk faster.

The two story cabin was huge and airy, with big glass doors opening onto a patio, which is where the DJ and drink stations were set up. It was to the DJ booth that Octavia rushed, as Clarke and Lincoln followed more sedately in her wake.

She watched as Lincoln walked ahead of her with his usual easy grace while Clarke's nerves got more jittery with every passing second. Stopping just before she really got into the crowd, she decided to wait for them to finish greeting Octavia's friend, so as not to risk her eardrums by getting too close to the sound equipment. It was just like college all over again with Lincoln dragging her, awkward and stumbling, to parties with all of his popular friends that thought she was some bookish weirdo. Not that they were wrong. She was a bookish weirdo by a lot of people's standards, she thought looking around at the dozens of beautiful people milling about in all states of dress and inebriation. Some things never change.

From her vantage on the outskirts of the patio, Clarke could see Octavia pulling at the DJ's arm and watched as he took the headphones off his head long enough to smile and pull her into a bear hug. He was tall and gangly with dark brown hair and a pair of goggles hanging around his neck which seemed strange given that he probably wasn't going to be getting in the water if he was working the DJ booth. Clarke wondered how two such unlikely people had become friends. As stereotypical as it sounded, he didn't look like the type that would hang out with Octavia or her clients, goggles weren't exactly a hot fashion accessory this season, she thought with a smirk. Actually, he looked more like her, an outcast that got invited to hang out with the cool kids, but still stuck out like a sore thumb.

Octavia returned after a short conversation with Goggles, beaming from ear to ear and talking animatedly with Lincoln. Clarke couldn't make out what she was saying over the noise, but she was fairly certain that Octavia was making plans to introduce Lincoln to Goggles later on in the evening if her hand gestures were any indication.

"Let's go find Glass and get out on the water people!" Octavia shouted over the noise as she and Lincoln finally made it back to where Clarke was standing. With a nervous smile she nodded and followed them further into the throngs people.

It didn't take long to find Glass, whom Lincoln explained on the way was one of Octavia's friends from college. It just so happened that she was also an up and coming model and one of Octavia's clients. Standing in front of the girl, it was easy for Clarke to see Octavia's hand in the tall blond beauty's outfit and it made her smile. Octavia really was great at her job and Clarke glanced around wondering how many other people here had benefited from Octavia's expertise.

They spent a few minutes introducing themselves and chatting idly about Octavia's amazing stylist abilities before Clarke was comfortable enough to join in the conversation. Glass was amazingly down to earth for a model and paid Octavia numerous compliments while relaying stories about her photo shoots and upcoming projects. Despite having a career that Clarke would normally have classified as frivolous and silly, she found herself really liking Glass. She was stunning and clearly knew it, but she didn't rub it in your face the way most pretty girls did. She seemed to be a genuinely nice person and Clarke was surprised to find that she was actually a society reject, much like herself. Even though they didn't personally know each other, Clarke knew of her family name from some of the charitable work her mother had done over the years and it helped put Clarke at ease and feel less like an outsider.

"Listen, I can't go out on the lake and ignore all my guests, but you all should! There are tubes and skis and wake boards, whatever you want I'm sure we could find it. Most of the people here have cabins close by and have their own boats, but we hired out a little too. Just head on down to the dock and they'll get you set up!" Glass said indicating the dozen or so boats resting gently at anchor and the groups of people already out on the water.

"We'll catch up later," Octavia said hugging the girl briefly and then pulling them off in the direction of the outdoor bar.

"I figured you might need a few of these first Clarke," Octavia said sliding a tequila shot toward her.

"It's that obvious?" Clarke asked with a laugh before throwing back her shot. Damned if she was going to let her nerves ruin the evening for her, she thought as Octavia slid another drink into her hand.

"I figured we'd check our stuff in at the house and then head out on the water. No sense in bringing it all with us on the boat," she said peering at Clarke with one raised eyebrow.

"Uh, yeah sure," Clarke said while panic bells started peeling in her head. It was almost time for the clothes to come off and the bikini to rear it's ugly head, but Clarke wasn't at all sure she was ready for it yet. She asked for the next round of shots herself which made Lincoln laugh and Octavia raise one pointed eyebrow, but she didn't care. Liquid courage was better than no courage at all.

An hour or so later when they finally made it up to the house again and disappeared into the little changing closets set up around the perimeter, Clarke's head was pleasantly fuzzy. When Octavia popped into her stall to make sure everything was going okay Clarke giggled and twirled her shirt around on her finger. Rather than make fun of her they way some people might have done, Octavia laughed outright and shoved her outside.

Clarke froze for all of about three seconds, sure that everyone outside was looking at her and the way her pale skin and less than beach ready body stood out in this crowd, before Octavia whirled up behind her, slapped her on the ass and told her to get moving. Clarke squealed in a totally un-Clarke like way and burst into giggles. Just like that, her nerves broke and she trailed off after Octavia and Lincoln to check their in their bags with a small smile on her face.

When they reached the dock Lincoln produced two bottles of wine and Octavia burst into infectious laughter. "You always know just what we need," she said giggling as she climbed into a nearby boat. Their captain was looking over them with polite amusement as they stumbled aboard. Lincoln explained, after some quick conversation with Octavia, that they would stick to tubing, which honestly seemed like the safest bet to Clarke, and the Captain nodded then set to work hooking up the correct ropes. She was starting to feel decidedly too uninhibited for her own tastes and the thought of making a fool of herself on skis wasn't an appealing one. Tubing on the other hand would be relaxing and fun, it required almost no skill and was exactly what she needed today.

Their Captain, who introduced himself as Kevin, took it easy on Octavia as she slipped and slid in the wake of the boat, screeching her head off the whole time, but when it came time for Lincoln to take his turn, he switched tactics completely. He sped up and took an unexpected turn that sent Lincoln flying off the tube and skittering along the surface of the water in what was possibly the least graceful jumble of limbs that Clarke had ever witnessed. She and Octavia were doubled over with laughter and even Kevin was smirking when Lincoln pulled himself back up the ladder with a totally Lincoln like smile on his face. He took everything in, including being embarrassingly unseated in front of his girlfriend, with a good natured shrug and tipped an imaginary hat to the Captain who laughed outright and asked who was next.

Obviously it was Clarke's turn, but after watching Lincoln's brutal un-tubing, she wasn't especially excited about getting out on the water. "Maybe I'll just watch," she mumbled into the open bottle of wine cradled in her lap.

"No!" Octavia exclaimed snatching the bottle away and shoving her toward the ladder. "You're going to have fun if I've got to break your arm to get you to do it."

"Yeah that sounds like lots of fun," Clarke said with a smirk, unsuccessfully trying to stall for time. While they'd been floating mostly stationary, another boat had pulled along side them unnoticed. It wasn't until a masculine laugh was followed by a very nearby splash that anybody bothered to look around to see what was going on. The man was nearly to their ladder before Clarke realized that the nut was planning to board their boat. An exasperated sigh from Octavia was the only thing that clued Clarke into something being wrong before his head broke the calm surface of the lake and Clarke gasped involuntarily.

Bellamy's dark curls were plastered to his head and water dripped down every plain of his bare chest as he pulled himself lithely up the ladder towards her. He was wearing his customary arrogant smirk and Clarke suddenly felt every inch of her bare skin as it lit in a hot blush.

Clarke could feel her face burning as Bellamy's eyes traveled all the way from the tips of her toes to the top of her head and she quickly crossed her arms over her chest, earning herself a bigger smirk in the process. Of course when she finally decided to get out of her head and abandon a lifetime worth of forced modesty, Bellamy Blake would show up and make fun of her for it!

"What the fuck Bell?" Octavia blurted out, effectively breaking the awkwardness silence.

"What's up O?" Bellamy asked casually and Clarke began to wonder at the familiarity between the two. How the hell did Bellamy know Octavia and Lincoln? It wasn't really all that surprising that he would know Glass, she was his type after all, Clarke thought uncharitably, but he and Lincoln didn't seem like they ran in the same circles.

"Why are you always following me around?" Octavia hissed, pushing up into Bellamy's space. Clarke knew she was fiery and all, but she'd seen Bellamy make grown men cry before, so she was impressed with Octavia's ability to weather his intimidation. "I told you at the club that my personal life is none of your damn business!" she said jabbing a finger into his chest. For his part, Bellamy, the company hot head, was just standing there frowning down at her disapprovingly.

"And I told you that I don't think it's appropriate for someone his age to be dating someone your age," he said shooting daggers at Lincoln who was watching the pair in silence. Lincoln was calm, and clearly okay with letting Octavia handle herself, but Clarke could see tension in the line of his shoulders and tightening around his eyes. This didn't seem like the first time Octavia had, had this conversation or the first time that Lincoln had been forced to silently watch.

Octavia's words finally registered in Clarke's head and that was all it took for the pieces to click into place. Octavia had said that it was her brother who showed up at the club last night before she shoved Clarke in a cab and it was her brother who she'd mentioned having a problem with their age difference earlier today. Come to think of it, they looked amazingly similar when you took a moment to notice. They both had that light caramel colored skin and inky black hair, the same devil may care smile, and murderous scowl. Seeing them face off beside her, they could have almost been twins.

Clarke wanted to slap a hand to her forehead and throw up all at the same time as waves of realization washed over her. Why had she never thought to ask Octavia's last name? Or asked more questions about the situation at the club. Why hadn't Lincoln told her? Or Octavia? Surely they knew that both she and Bellamy worked at TonDC. Clarke had spilled her whole sordid life story last night and not once in all of that time did Octavia stop her and say 'Oh by the way my brother Bellamy works there' or 'hey, that spawn of Satan you spent twenty minutes describing, yeah that's my big bro.' Anything would have been better than finding out this way she thought, eying the shouting pair uneasily.

A lump formed in Clarke's throat at the same time that her stomach formed into a hard knot and the nausea came back full force. Feelings of betrayal flashed quickly through her body and she swayed on the spot as the powerful emotion ripped through her mind. In it's wake was a desperate scrambling to recall every detail of the sob story she'd told them last night so that she could figure out just how deeply embarrassed she needed to be, but to her horror, she couldn't remember half of what she'd drunkenly blurted out. This was possibly the most embarrassing social blunder in the history of her life and she thought seriously about just tossing herself in front of a passing boat at least twice before the shouting stopped.

Her muscles were so tense and her mind reeling with so many thoughts that when a light touch landed on her elbow, she jerked away so hard that she nearly sent herself over the side of the boat. Cursing herself for her clumsiness, she stumbled and tried not to flush crimson.

"Easy princess. How much have you had to drink?" Bellamy asked, long fingers encircling her arm and jerking her upright again.

"Leave it Bell, she's fine," Octavia said glaring at him. "Stop mothering everyone would you?"

"Sure Octavia, because you're such a paragon of virtue. A bright moral compass to lead people through hard times, right?" he asked suddenly releasing Clarke's arm, which she hadn't managed to jerk away in the confusion of watching the siblings bicker. The argument was escalating quickly and hurtful words were moments away from being spewed out when Lincoln finally got to his feet and stepped between them.

"Look Bellamy, we are just trying to have some fun. Octavia is fine. Clarke is fine. It looks like your companions are ready to get back to their fun too," Lincoln hinted strongly as he lifted his eyes to the other boat.

Clarke's eyes followed his and took in the three women pouting at Bellamy across the water. Clearly, they were put out by being ignored and made to wait around on him. Too bad, Clarke thought scowling. If they wanted to take off let them. In fact, if they left she might just join them. Anything, even the company of Bellamy's bimbos, would be preferable to spending the rest of her afternoon with him.

"Why don't you rejoin your friends and we can all talk later. Or you can stay and have a drink with us," Lincoln said throwing up his hands defensively when Bellamy quickly turned to scowl in his direction. "Either way man, lets just take it down a notch."

Bellamy's nostrils flared at the redirection, but for the first time that Clarke had ever seen, Bellamy backed off from the brewing fight. He waved the boat full of girls away with little more than a shrug and slouched down on a bench seat next to where Clarke was still standing awkwardly, trying to process everything. She watched sadly as the girls huffed and her chance of escape sped away across the water. When she turned back around, she watched Bellamy accept the open bottle of wine they'd all been sharing from Lincoln's outstretched hand and gulp down a few large swallows before glancing around the group.

Their Captain was looking around at them nervously, clearly unsure as to what he should say or do and probably really regretting his decision to take them out on the water. That thought more than anything snapped Clarke out of it and she snorted on a laugh.

The group looked at her like she was crazy as she fought to suppress another giggle, but it burbled out of mouth anyway. "I bet you wish you were anywhere but here, huh?" she asked, speaking directly to Kevin and ignoring the confused glances being thrown her way.

"Well no ma'am, I mean yes ma'am… I mean no!" he said looking alarmed. The poor guy was clearly afraid that someone was either going to blow up and start chucking people overboard or that he was going to get a bad report to his employer for saying the wrong thing, but he was too polite to say it. Poor kid, she thought suppressing another laugh.

Once the group knew what she was laughing at it wasn't long before everyone else was laughing with her. Even Bellamy had a certain twinkle in his eye as his throaty chuckle eased around her. "You should have told me," Clarke said to Octavia with a frown as the laughter died down, but the tension had dissipated and Clarke found that she really wasn't that angry after all. Who was she to demand every detail of the girls life when she'd barely volunteered any of her own? And it's not like it was Octavia's fault that she'd gotten drunk and unloaded on them last night. Come to think of it, it was probably good that Octavia hadn't mentioned her brother at the club or let Clarke hang around long enough to see him because Clarke would probably have freaked out. If she'd seen Bellamy and put the pieces together sooner, she would have missed going shopping with Octavia and the opportunity to make a great friend. Thinking about it in that light, she really had no regrets about the way any of it was handled.

"I know, Clarke," Octavia said taking Clarke's hand and turning her big doe eyes up at her. "It's just that we were having such a good time and I didn't want to spoil it because you two seem to really hate each other and…" she explained in a rush, but Clarke shushed her before she could hyperventilate.

"It's fine," Clarke said mostly calm at this point. "Just make time next time," she said with a rueful shrug.

"So… we're cool?" Octavia asked cautiously?

It touched Clarke that she looked so unsure and it helped cement the idea that Octavia was someone that she very much wanted to have in her life. It already felt like they'd known each other forever and Clarke wasn't willing to let that kind of connection go over something -or someone- as stupid as Bellamy Blake.

"Yeah, we're cool," Clarke said with a smile that lit up her face. Octavia threw her arms around Clarke, toppling them both. Clarke let out a terrified shriek as she fell, but rather than meeting with the rough carpeting of the boat as she expected, she found herself falling straight into Bellamy's lap. Her face made contact with his bare chest with a meaty slap and her mouth, which had to this point been open in shock, slid across at least part of it, leaving a wet sticky trail of saliva where her lips drug across.

Octavia was laughing as she got to her feet and Bellamy was looking amused, but faintly disgusted as he wiped the trail of fluid off his chest and pushed Clarke onto the bench beside him. To her horror, she felt herself blushing so hard that she felt light headed. Damn it! She couldn't have done something more embarrassing if she tried, Clarke railed at herself internally as she turned away from Bellamy's smirking face.

"Come on Clarkey, it's your turn," Octavia said, still giggling as Lincoln wrapped an arm around her middle and pulled her onto the seat next to him. Bellamy frowned, and she could tell Lincoln noticed, but he didn't take his arm away. She could see that he still had a cautious look in his eyes as he watched Bellamy, but they were all trying to stick to the cease fire and she doubted that Lincoln would be the one to break it.

"No way!" Clarke exclaimed, glaring daggers at Octavia and Lincoln who in turn smiled like lunatics at her.

"You have to Clarke, it's your turn!" Lincoln said and his smile widened perceptibly as Clarke glared at them.

"I'm not getting on that tube after… after… all of this," Clarke said removing her hands from where they were hugging her sides long enough to throw them in the air in exasperation.

"What's the matter princess? Afraid of the water?" Bellamy asked condescendingly.

Clarke gritted her teeth, not liking the fact that he had apparently decided to put his displeasure with Lincoln and his baby sister on hold long enough to antagonize her. This had suddenly taken a turn for the worst day of her life, and there was nothing she could do about it because they were on a boat in the middle of the lake and even if she could swim ashore without drowning, she'd ridden with Lincoln and had no way of getting back to her loft without them. This is why she was control freak that insisted on driving her own vehicle, she reminded herself with a mental kick.

As a last resort, she shot one pleading look at the Captain, but he only shrugged with a friendly smile. Traitor, she thought scowling at him. He could have at least made an excuse to head back to the dock by now, she thought as she pushed herself to her feet, determined not to show weakness in front of Bellamy. If it had just been Octavia and Lincoln she might have told them that her stomach was squirming nervously or that she'd pulled a muscle when Octavia tackled her, but she would never let Bellamy see her back down from a challenge.

Clarke headed for the ladder swaying unsteadily from the gently rocking boat or the alcohol, she couldn't really tell which, but she made it bent down to begin reeling in the tube.

"Don't forget the life jacket," Lincoln said passing a woman's size to her, always the practical one.

Clarke stood with a smile, letting the rope drop back into the water as she slipped her arms through the holes and clipped the front. Unfortunately, the vest was loosened to fit someone considerably larger than she was and it would be nearly impossible for her to reach the straps to tighten it without taking it off first. This was something she probably should have checked before putting it on, she thought darkly. Just as she was reaching for the buckles to undo the clasps, she felt warm hands at her sides. She glanced back to see that Bellamy had gotten up and come to help, totally silent as per usual, and she tried to hold very still as he worked the straps of her vest, tightening them one by one.

When he was finished with her left side he spun her around to adjust the right, bringing them almost face to face. His eyes were turned down, concentrating on his task, and Clarke was close enough to see the pulse in his throat. She sucked in a surprised breath at their proximity and then bit her lip when he glanced up at her face, arching one elegant eyebrow at her. Flushing for what felt like the fiftieth time that day, she dropped her eyes and cursed herself. Lucky for her, Bellamy's broad shoulders were completely obscuring her from view, so the awkward moment went unnoticed by Lincoln and Bellamy's eagle eyed sister.

Clarke was still staring determinedly at her feet, having her straps tightened like a child, when Bellamy finished the task with one final tug. The ordeal had seemed to stretch out for a lifetime, but she knew that in reality Bellamy's nimble fingers had made short work of the job. She'd probably never have managed it so fast herself and she knew she should be grateful for the help.

"Thanks," she mumbled to her feet and was surprised when Bellamy didn't immediately move away. She jumped in surprise, when his fingers trailed down the side of the vest and onto her bare stomach, coming to rest on her hip. Regardless of the fact that she hated him and wanted to claw his eyes out most days, the touch was very intimate and her body reacted. Her pulse sped and she unconsciously moved her hip into his hand so that his palm rested flush against her. For a moment there was no reaction, even the warm breaths against her face stopped, but she stubbornly refused to look up and meet his eyes.

After a few seconds, during which she stared at her feet and tried to ignore the scorching heat of his hand, Bellamy used the offending appendage to spin her around once more. Clarke could feel herself lose balance as her hair fanned out around her from the force of the spin, but Bellamy's hands kept her steady. When most of the wobbling was gone, he slid down into a crouch behind her and grabbed for the tube. His shoulder pressed into the back her leg as he extended out over the water and Clarke's nerves came back full force. He was too close for comfort, but her fuzzy, alcohol laden brain couldn't figure out a way to fix it.

"Get on Princess," he said holding the tube steady and glancing up at her. She took a shaky breath, still not meeting his eyes, and climbed into the center. Thank god it was one of the ones you could kneel on so she didn't have to lay on her stomach. At this point she was legitimately concerned about throwing up and having it blow back in her hair.

"Hold on tight," he said with a smirk as he shoved the tube away from the boat. Her head snapped up, and her eyes finally made contact with his. He looked amused by her reaction, like he knew exactly how uncomfortable he'd made her. He was probably doing it on purpose just to screw with her and sabotage her ride, she thought sourly.

Clarke glared at him and took firm hold of the handles, positioning herself more securely on the tube. This wasn't her first time on the water. In fact, she'd spent a lot of summers doing this very thing with Wells and her dad and she couldn't wait to wipe the smug smirk off his face. It wasn't like she was a pro at water sports or anything, but she could hold her own. The fluttering in her stomach disappeared as the cord stretched and grew taught and she almost smiled when she heard Bellamy tell the Captain to give her hell.

The boat jerked her forward as it picked up speed and she quickly adjusted herself for balance. Then, with almost no warning, she was off. Flying across the water, laughing like a kid at the pure unadulterated joy of feeling the wind and spray blow through her hair, she was loving every minute of it. She screeched as the boat took a hard turn and she went flying across the crest of a wave, but managed to stay on.

If she were being honest with herself, she was having a blast and all of a sudden it didn't matter what Finn was doing or what was happening at TonDC or even that Bellamy was there because Clarke was having fun. It was funny how she didn't realize how sad and lonely she was until something happened to throw it into sharp contrast with how happy she could be, but Clarke didn't have time to dwell on that either.

The boat took another sharp turn and she was sent flying in the opposite direction. Rather than try to hold on and risk getting dragged by the boat, Clarke let go of the handles and somersaulted across the water, landing with a huge splash. Kicking her legs, and with the help of the life vest, she broke the surface quickly, and was relieved to see the boat circling back to pick her up. There were too many other boats on the water to just be floating around sans boat for very long so she waved her arms above her head to let them know she was okay and to make herself more visible in the water.

She was smiling like an idiot when Lincoln helped her back on board and Octavia was crowing about how epic her wipe out was as Clarke shed the life jacket. The day was warm, but she shivered as the breeze touched her wet skin. Bellamy must have noticed because he threw a towel unceremoniously into her face, making Octavia laugh and Clarke roll her eyes, but she accepted it none the less, wrapping it quickly around her middle and taking her seat.

"What do you say we head back?" Lincoln said to everyone.

"Yeah, we're out of wine," Octavia said staring sadly at the empty bottle in her hand. Clarke laughed at the abject expression on her face and even Bellamy looked like he was fighting back a grin.

"To shore then!" Clarke exclaimed tossing her hair over her shoulder and grinning at them.

"It's getting a little late to be out on the water anyway," Bellamy said eying the low hanging sun. "The party is probably in full swing now too," he added looking back over his shoulder in the direction of the cabin.

They reeled in the tube one last time, stuffing it securely in the floor of the boat and headed back to the dock in relatively easy silence. It wasn't until they were knocking against the wooden planks of the dock that Clarke started to feel awkward again. Everyone was out of the boat except for her and she was fiddling around securing her towel, when a hand appeared in front of her face. She took it gratefully, without bothering to check who it belonged to, and let it hoist her back onto dry land.

When she glanced up to say thank you, she expecting to find Lincoln's smiling face, but instead Bellamy was smirking down at her. She glared at him as his eyes ghosted down to top of the towel, where cloth met flesh and then pushed passed him after Octavia and Lincoln. Lucky for all of them, as soon as they neared the house, Bellamy melted into the crowd with a muttered excuse to Octavia, who merely rolled her eyes and continued towards the changing closets.

Clarke felt immeasurably better when she was once again dressed in her shorts and cover up, even if it didn't actually cover much up. They wondered away from the changing closets and Octavia and Lincoln set about working through the crowd. Saying hello to old friends and being an absolutely adorable couple as they laughed and joked together.

Clarke didn't want to intrude, or stand through awkward introductions, so she slipped on her sandals, grabbed a glass of wine from a nearby server and headed for the lake's edge. The sun was setting in a fiery explosion of pinks and oranges that had Clarke itching for her paints. Before she knew it, she had wandered as close to the water as she could get without ruining her sandals, glass of sweet red wine in hand, and was content to just stand there and stare out across the water while Lincoln and Octavia mingled. Her shoulders relaxed with every step she took away from the crowd and by the time she found the perfect spot to watch the sunset, she was almost completely at ease again.

"It's beautiful isn't it?" a masculine voice asked from behind.

Her mind was too languid to react even though she recognized the voice. Shrugging her shoulders slightly was her only acknowledgment. Clarke was afraid that if she told him how she could feel the sun's last rays sinking into her skin like liquid gold, or how the kaleidescope of colors in the sky made her mind dance with creative possibilities that he would laugh, make fun of her for feeling something, anything that he didn't think was normal. So, she stayed quiet and hoped that he'd just leave. She could already feel her shoulders tensing up and the peaceful feeling from moments before leaving her. Funny how he managed to ruin everything even when he wasn't trying.

"Look, Clarke…" he started to say as he put a cautious hand on her shoulder.

"Don't Bellamy…" she said glancing over her shoulder at him, "I don't want to think about it. Not right now," she added sadly.

Of course he wanted to talk. They hadn't spoken since he escorted her out of TonDC, and he probably wanted a chance to explain his side of the story, but she wasn't in the mood. His hand fell away from her abruptly and her skin mourned the loss of contact, but she stayed firm. Her head was starting to become a tangled emotional mess and the last person she wanted around if she fell apart was Bellamy Blake.

He didn't leave and she sighed in frustration. What was his problem? How could he not recognize that this moment was the least appropriate time ever to talk about her mistakes? Surely he could sense how uncomfortable he made her. It wasn't like she was being subtle about it, so why was he pushing her? But, that was a stupid question to ask because that was just Bellamy being Bellamy. He pushed people, poked and prodded until he got the results he wanted regardless of what happened to the other person. She'd seen it a million times at the prison and the more she thought about him and his general disregard for everyone else's feelings, the angrier she grew until finally she couldn't take it anymore. If he didn't back off she was going to explode!

"What Bellamy? Why are you still here?" she asked, spinning around to glare at him. "Are you stalking your little sister like some kind of overprotective freak? She's a grown ass woman if you hadn't noticed and Lincoln is a really good guy. Probably one of the only ones in this god forsaken city so why don't you just back the fuck off?" Clarke exclaimed, inches away from his face. Somewhere in her tirade she'd taken a step toward him and her anger and alcohol muddled mind hadn't made her aware of it until she registered his breath blowing the fine hairs off her forehead. Her face flushed and she made to take a step back when she stumbled in the loose earth and nearly landed on her ass, but Bellamy clamped a strong hand around her bicep and jerked her back up, putting himself in her space this time.

"Actually Princess," he said through gritted teeth, all traces of the warmth he had started the conversation with gone in the face of her barrage, "I'm not some overprotective control freak. I didn't come here for Octavia. I just happen to know Glass. We fucked a few times in college before she got her fancy modeling gig," he said getting right up in her face. More blood flooded her cheeks and she was sure that he had used that particular language just to embarrass her. "I didn't even know that they were going to be here, but you're right. I don't want some old skeezeball creeping on my baby sister. I don't give a fuck that he's rich or went to the same high class school as you," he said shaking her a little. "He's a guy with a dick chasing a girl at least ten years younger than him and that's fucking disgusting," he said bitterly.

A few things became very apparent to Clarke in that moment. One, Bellamy clearly had been doing some research and seemed to know quite a bit about both herself and Lincoln. Two, he apparently didn't realize what a hypocrite he was considering that he'd just told her about sleeping with Glass when they had roughly the same age gap as Octavia and Lincoln. And three, he was obviously more affected by the alcohol than she thought because he still hadn't realized that he was gripping her arm too tight or that he was close enough that she could see a tiny scar above his lip. Normal Bellamy was one of the most self contained people she'd ever met and he would never let his emotions run away with him like he was at the moment. He showed the world only what he wanted them to see, which was usually anger or contempt, so this odd loss of control must be because of the alcohol, she reasoned as she stared up into his dark, stormy eyes.

"Lincoln is a nice guy," she said weakly, trying to placate him and bring the conversation back under control. It wasn't fair that Bellamy was judging him when he barely knew him, but to be honest if she hadn't seen for herself the way that Lincoln doted on Octavia she might have been worried too. It's not like Lincoln wasn't a notorious playboy, but to Clarke's knowledge he'd never taken advantage of anyone or went out with the sole intention of causing anyone else harm. The girls that Lincoln had fallen in with knew exactly what they were getting and he never led them on. Not once had she ever seen Lincoln do anything even remotely malicious and for her, that was a higher commendation that she could give ninety percent of the human population. "And if this is about money, it shouldn't be. It's not Lincoln's fault that you didn't have money growing up." She started to say something more, but the icy look on Bellamy's face was enough to stop her cold.

"Don't you ever talk about my life. You don't know me and you don't know Octavia so just keep your nose out of it," he said shaking her a little to emphasize his point. "I'm not going to stand by while some prissy bitch and her dick head ex fuck buddy use my sister and take advantage of how naive she is. She's just a kid. She doesn't understand what people like you are capable of. What men like Lincoln will do to her. He'll use her up and then throw her away. I've seen it happen a million times with people like you. You're in a different social class and you know it, but you just can't keep yourselves from slumming it right? Walking on the wild side with the rest of us trash?" He was breathing hard and his grip had become almost painful. Clarke noticed that his pupils were blown wide before he shook her one last time as if he thought that he might be able to change the world by shaking her to death or something.

Clarke's shock at the rough handling and acid words wore off as her wine sloshed out of her glass and her reeling head snapped painfully backwards on her neck. Shock was replaced with a fiery rage stronger than anything she'd felt in a long time. It flowed through her like molten lava and she jerked her arm out of his grasp, but didn't step back. Oh no, she was way passed the point of deescalating this situation. Her blood was boiling and she could feel her heartbeat pulsing in her ears. She stepped into him, invading the hell out of his personal space and was gratified to see a look of alarm replace his scowl.

"I live my life by my terms Bellamy and I sure as hell don't blame my problems on someone or something else. I don't judge people based on their social status. I make relationships based on mutual interests and emotional connection. Probably the same way your sister does," she said pushing a finger into his chest. "If you're afraid to let anyone close enough to see into your past that's fine, but don't project your fucked up mommy issues on me or Lincoln. We aren't bad people," she finished lamely looking down at her feet, suddenly unsure as to whether or not that statement still applied to her. After the events of the last week, she had some doubts. Luckily, Bellamy snorted, and rekindled the dying embers of her anger enough for her to force the guilt away.

She pushed his chest hard, losing her grip on her wine glass in the process. It tumbled to the ground unnoticed as she backed him up a few steps. "Why do you always have to be so awful? Why does everything have to be a fight? Sometimes people just need someone to be decent… to act like a real human being for even a second." She was rambling and she knew it. Words that had been pent up in her chest all week came spewing out of her mouth with no filter whatsoever and even thought she knew she'd regret it later, she couldn't seem to stop herself.

"I'm sick of all the lies and the games. I'm a real person not some punching bag that everyone gets to take a swing at!" Dimly, she was aware that this was about Finn not Bellamy, but she couldn't seem to stop. "I'm not this person. I don't let people use me and throw me away!" Her heart felt like it was being constricted in a vice and she knew that she was seconds away from tears as the anger quickly fled her body, leaving her hollow and alone in it's absence.

"Clarke I didn't mean…" Bellamy started, uncertainly, but once again Clarke cut him off.

"I know exactly what you meant Bellamy Blake," she said bitterly. "You think I'm some kind of diva that grew up in a perfect home with a perfect life just because I have money, and you know what? You don't know shit about my life," she finished fiercely. It was lucky that in her need to be alone for a few moments she'd taken her glass of wine and walked a good way around the edge of the lake so that now they were far enough from the crowd that their shouting match wasn't being witnessed or overheard. Just the thought of this being seen or heard by anyone else was mortifying. That, coupled with the idea that she had very nearly revealed something real about her life to Bellamy was enough to level her out.

She moved to take a step back, but suddenly it was Bellamy who was taking up all of the space between them. He caught her arms at the elbows, more gently this time, but still firm enough to let her know she wasn't going anywhere without a fight.

"Now who's projecting? Got some underlying daddy issues you need to get off your chest sweetheart?" he asked condescendingly. He smirked at her and all the calm that she had tried so hard to get back fled in an instant.

Clarke glared at him with every once of hatred she possessed, but he only laughed at her like this was some kind of game and he was enjoying it. The sick asshole! Suddenly she couldn't stand the flash of his annoyingly perfect white teeth, or the way his hair was tumbled and messy, but still managed to look great. She couldn't stand how his t-shirt outlined all the hard plains of his chest or how his cologne was overwhelming, but suited him to perfection. The course of action she took next was solely for the purpose of wiping that smug look off his face. Or at least that's what she told herself later.

Rather than struggling to get away like she'd been planning, she struggled to get closer. His hands fell away and her body was pressed fully against his in the blink of an eye because Bellamy hadn't been expecting the change in tactic. He'd obviously been gearing up for another fight. She could feel his sharp intake of breath with her entire torso and it made her want to laugh. Maybe she would have stopped it there if the look of absolute horror on his face hadn't been so damn amusing. She may not be some sexy model like Glass, but she was a woman and she understood the affect her body could have on men and wasn't above using it now. Anything that rattled Bellamy as much as he'd rattled her seemed like a good decision at the moment.

Instead of retreating like every rational part of her brain was screaming at her to do, she smiled wickedly and rose on her tip toes to drape her arms around his neck. Their noses were inches apart and she could feel his rapid breath on her face, it smelled like mint maybe just a little rum. His pupils were huge in the low light and he was staring at her lips like he wanted to devour them. Having such an affect on him made her feel powerful and she smiled again, pulling her lower lip into her mouth and biting down on it gently just to see what he'd do.

Bellamy's breath hitched and his hands, previously hanging uselessly in the air around her, came down to grasp her hips. His fingers dug into the soft flesh just above her shorts, startling them both with their heat. The situation was rapidly spinning out of control and the logical part of her brain knew that now was the time to stop her dangerous game.

"Clarke…" Bellamy said huskily, still staring at her lips, "you're drunk…"

Her face pulled down into a frown instantly. He was right. This wasn't like her at all, fighting, physically fighting with someone and then throwing herself at them. What the fuck was going on with her? Abruptly, her arms fell away from his neck and flew to the sides of her head. She pulled them forcefully through her damp curls and squeezed her eyes shut so the pain could help clear her head.

"Bellamy… god I'm so sorry. I should never have…," she started to explain as she fought to keep her voice from trembling, but her throat was too tight to finish. Clarke was an emotional mess and hot sticky tears were pooling in her eyes. She would have turned away from him then and fled, but his hands were still on her hips and he was still looking intently into her face. There were so many emotions playing over his features in such rapid succession that she couldn't pick out any one thing to focus on.

A sob, deep and painful wrenched itself out of her throat at the same time that Bellamy's fingers tightened. He jerked her lower body toward his with jarring force and used the momentum to slip a hand around her lower back, holding her flush against him while his other hand shoved hers out of the way and thrust into her hair.

His lips were on hers before she'd even had time to react and for a moment she was too stunned to move. He kissed with a startling intensity that was impossible to ignore and her mind grappled with the unfamiliar sensations assaulting her senses while he took full advantage of her acquiescence. His lips were warm and surprisingly soft considering how often she'd seen them in a hard line and they moved with skilled precision that left her numb in the wake of their onslaught.

Using his hands in her hair, he tugged her head backwards gently to deepen their kiss. Her heart fluttered in her chest and he swallowed a gasp as he devoured her wet, swollen lips, kissing her with such fierce abandon that Clarke's knees went weak and her head spun as it struggled to comprehend and react.

She was lost, overwhelmed by the gentle torture of Bellamy's lips, but before she had time make a decision on whether or not she wanted to respond, a voice floated across the water towards them and shattered the spell they were under.

"Bellamy?"

It was only one word, but it was enough to make him freeze. Every muscle in his body went rigid all at once and his eyes, previously hooded with passion, popped open in shock. His lips fell away from hers and he shoved himself back violently as if the very idea of touching her sickened him. He ran a hand through his messy hair and looked anywhere but her eyes as footsteps grew nearer.

Clarke for her part was to stunned to do much of anything other than stand there, mouth hanging open, and gape at him. Her thoughts were whirling around at high speed, crashing into each other in ways that made her stomach twist and she wondered for the second time that day if she was about to be ill. It would be an interesting commentary on his kiss if she threw up all over his shoes right after, she thought wildly.

The further he moved away, the less hazy her mind seemed to become. Each step added another crystal of clarity and by the time the footsteps were upon them, she'd regained enough composure to start looking for a way out of the situation. Spotting a glint of glass in the waning light, she quickly made her way over to retrieve it. No way in hell she was sticking around for whatever was about to happen!

A pretty blond with legs for days and a dancer's slim physique popped into view just as Clarke crouched down to pick up her discarded glass, hoping desperately that if she made herself small the girl wouldn't notice her and they would just leave.

"Hey, babe," Bellamy said hoarsely before clearing his throat. "I was just out here looking for my sister's friend for her. They're getting ready to leave and apparently she got drunk and wondered off. I didn't want O traipsing around in the woods getting lost looking for her," he said and Clarke could hear in his voice that he was smiling that damnable charming smile while lie after lie tumbled off his lips. It made her feel sick and slimy when she thought back to the last few moments spent in his arms.

"Aw, you're so sweet," the girl cooed and Clarke fought back another wave of nausea. He was a lying bastard just like Finn and she was so sick of men and the way they used woman to get what they wanted that she wondered if she'd ever date anyone again.

She was still crouched down, reaching for the glass when the girl whirled around on her long, tanned legs and saw her.

"Is that her?" she asked staring stupidly between them.

"It sure is, babe," he said wrapping his arms around her from behind and staring at Clarke as he buried his face in the girls shoulder. "I'm gonna have to start calling you Mrs. Holmes," he said, playfully spinning the girl to face him.

"Who?" she asked confused, but giggled anyway and dropped a soft kiss on Bellamy's neck.

Clarke was getting more of a show than she ever wanted from Bellamy. Her stomach rolled as she stood and sweat broke out on her brow but she managed to make it to her feet, studiously ignoring the spectacle in front of her. Taking a step, she tried to move away as quick and quiet as possible, but it was dark and her head was spinning. She didn't even see the tree root that felled her until she was already sprawled face down on the ground, desperately trying to spit out leaves and regain the breath that had been knocked out of her chest. The girl was tittering shrilly behind her and angry tears formed rapidly in her eyes as Clarke fought back the urge to scream or cry, or maybe scream while crying, she couldn't really decide.

"Clarke?" Lincoln's deep baritone echoed off the water and was the most welcome thing she'd ever heard in that moment. Two strong, familiar hands grasped her under her arms and lifted her off the ground. "Are you okay?" he asked her worriedly as she bent over at the waist and wheezed.

"What the fuck Bell?" Octavia screeched as she rushed to Clarke's side, wrapping a supportive hand across Clarke's back. "Why are you just standing there with that idiot?"

"Hey," the blond said taking an aggressive step toward Octavia and Clarke, "who the fuck do you think you are?"

"That's my sister," Bellamy said looking at the girl in disgust. "You can go now, we're finished," he added, scowling down at her until she left, pushing passed Lincoln with an angry huff.

"Let's go Clarke," Octavia said when Clarke had regained enough breath to stand up straight.

"Sounds good," Clarke said sheepishly, but when she made to take a step away from them, her ankle buckled and white hot pain shot up her leg. The only thing that saved her from eating grass again was Lincoln's strong arms.

"O, listen…" Bellamy said taking a step closer to them.

"Save it Bell," Octavia gritted out through clenched teeth. "What the hell were you even doing out here? Harassing Clarke? She's got enough shit going one without you being a dick too," she spat accusingly.

"No of course not!" Bellamy exclaimed coming closer. "Please just let me help," he said reaching to grab Clarke's arm, the one Lincoln wasn't already holding, but Clarke shied away from his touch and his fingers grasped only air.

"Back off Bell," Octavia said shoving his arm. She may not know what had happened between them, but she was perceptive enough to know something wasn't right and that unease transfered almost instantly to Lincoln. Clarke could feel it in the way his forearm flexed beneath her fingers and the angry flare of his nostrils.

"Now wait a god damn minute here. I'm just trying to help!" he said and Clarke could hear the anger in his voice as his iron grip clamped down on her arm. Part of her knew that he was probably trying to help, and that he was most likely as flustered as she was and didn't even realize how hard he was squeezing, but it did nothing to stop her reaction. Clarke hissed at the bruising touch, turning to glare at him hatefully and then several things happened all at once.

The first was that Lincoln stepped around Clarke and shoved Bellamy, hard, effectively breaking his grasp on her arm. Bellamy landed on his ass with a dull thud and sat in stunned silence for a split second before jumping to his feet with a muttered curse and rushing Lincoln. Clarke, who was still up to this point leaning heavily on Lincoln's arm, felt the impact through Lincoln's body as Bellamy crashed into him. The jolt, even tempered by Lincoln's body, sent her toppling towards the ground… again. Octavia screeched like something not human when Bellamy's fist made contact with Lincoln's face and she flew at her brother, tiny fists flailing at his back as he and Lincoln grappled.

Clarke was too numb to understand what the crunching sound beneath her was until she sat up enough to look at her arm and realized that she must have landed on her empty wine glass. A few small shards were still clinging to her skin as blood started to ooze out of the cuts. They weren't bad or anything, but Clarke was anxious not to get any dirt in them or to push the glass any further in so she rolled herself into a sitting position and tried to scoot as far away from the fight as possible.

"Stop it! Stop it!" Octavia screamed, but Clarke couldn't tell anymore who she was yelling at. Lincoln had Bellamy in a head lock and didn't look like he was trying to fight anymore, but she could see that Bellamy's nose was bleeding so he'd obviously gotten in a few hits while she was distracted.

Lincoln looked up, finally registering Octavia's shrill command and abruptly let go of Bellamy. By this time a crowd had started to gather in the periphery of Clarke's vision and she wished that she could just sink into the ground and disappear.

"I think it's time you all left," Glass said in disgust as she looked at the lot of them.

As soon as Lincoln let him go, Octavia rushed to Bellamy's side, but Clarke could see that he was trying to brush her away as he swiped at the blood on his face and glared at the crowd. Lincoln watched Octavia's hands flutter around her brother's face and a look of sad resignation settled over him. It nearly broke Clarke's heart when his shoulders slumped and he turned his back to the siblings.

His eyes found hers and she smiled sadly at him. Clarke couldn't even begin to imagine how long Bellamy had been pushing him, testing his limits and acting like an asshole, but it was clear that Lincoln had resisted the urge to beat him to a pulp until now. All the way up until he'd been trying to defend her, Clarke thought guiltily as eyes watered. What if she'd just ruined things for Lincoln? What if Octavia broke things off because of this fight? Lincoln was always so calm and collected, surely she wouldn't hold this one lapse of judgment against him! Bellamy could push anyone's buttons. Hell, she was pretty sure at least half of the staff at the prison wanted to punch him in the face every single day!

"Time to go Clarkey," Lincoln said as he bent and scooped her up effortlessly. She held her injured arm against her chest as they walked, trying not to ruin his shirt by getting blood all over it, but they'd only taken a few steps when Octavia called out behind them.

"Lincoln wait!" He stopped, but didn't turn around until she was right behind them, one small hand resting on his lower back.

"Put me down Linc," Clarke said softly and he just nodded, setting her down gently before turning back to Octavia.

"I'm sorry," he said simply as Clarke hobbled a few steps away to give them privacy. The onlookers had started to disperse now that the fight was over and Clarke wondered if she'd be able to make it all the way to the bar on her own while Lincoln and Octavia worked things out when suddenly there was a hand on her arm, digging painfully into still seeping cuts before letting go just as quickly.

"Ow, shit!" Clarke hissed at Bellamy, jerking her arm into her chest protectively.

"What the fuck!" Lincoln said from behind them as he and Octavia made their way over. "Can't you just leave her alone? Every time you put your hands on her you fucking hurt her! She's already got bruises all over her arms from you, you dick! Just fucking stop already! You fuck up everything you touch so why don't you just stop man?"

It wasn't like Lincoln to have this sort of outburst and Clarke was momentarily speechless. "Lincoln!" she finally managed to splutter out reproachfully. It was so unlike him to say purposefully hurtful things to someone… to anyone and Clarke hated it. Hated that this night and her part in it had driven him to do it. Even if this speech smacked of old grievances and hidden meanings that she was sure had more to do with Octavia than herself, Clarke still hated her part in instigating it. Apparently it was her destiny to stumble through life ruining everyone's happiness including her own, she thought as imagines of Finn and the brunette beauty flashed through her mind.

She knew Lincoln well enough to know that later, when he was alone, he would beat himself up about what he'd said and the way he'd acted and wonder if he was turning into his father the way he'd always feared he would. He'd probably drown his worries in a bottle of scotch like he used to do at school too. She just hoped that Octavia would be there with him to tell him how stupid he was and reassure him that he was a good man despite all his misgivings.

"Jesus Clarke, I'm sorry," Bellamy said staring down at his bloody hand in shock. "Are you okay?" he asked taking a step forward and reaching for her again like he wanted to comfort her.

This time when Lincoln shoved him Bellamy just let it happen. He stayed sitting on the ground looking around like he was lost while Octavia wrapped Lincoln's handkerchief around Clarke's arm and watched as Lincoln picked her up again.

Clarke could see the siblings conversing quietly from where Lincoln held her against his broad chest, motionless except for his calm breathing. Octavia lifted Bellamy to his feet and then walked back to them slowly, both looking guilty.

"I don't want him driving like this," she said simply, staring up at Lincoln with a question in her eyes. Lincoln gave one curt nod and then turned and made swift progress towards the car. Clarke couldn't see over Lincoln's shoulder, but she could tell that there were two sets of footsteps following them and surmised that Bellamy would be riding home with them.

Yippee for what sure to be the most awkward car ride ever, Clarke thought sarcastically as Lincoln lowered her gently into the back seat. He glanced at her apologetically as Bellamy climbed in beside her, but Clarke just sighed and rolled her eyes, letting him know that he was off the hook. As much as she was pissed at Bellamy and confused about all the things that had happened, she would never want someone to take the chance of getting hurt driving home from a party. And certainly not over something stupid like her feelings, which she was positive she'd have a lot more of to sort through come morning.

"I'm sorry," Bellamy muttered, not meeting her gaze and Clarke wondered if he was apologizing for unintentionally hurting her or the kiss or blowing her off after or if he was just fucking sorry to be sitting next to her right now.

It didn't really matter. Clarke didn't care why he sorry, she was exhausted and sore and she wanted nothing more than to go back to her loft, clean up her arm, ice her ankle, and go to bed. Now was not the time to try to puzzle out Bellamy and his mood swings so she turned her face away from him and willed Lincoln to go faster as he sped back into the city.


	5. In the Light of Day

It had been three days since the party. Three days of brooding alone in her loft. Three days of drinking to numb the pain and ignoring everyone's calls and texts. Three days of feeling desperate and alone, too depressed to even paint while she hobbled around on her sore ankle, before she was snapped out of her melancholy musings by a loud rap on her door.

After checking the peephole, she opened it to find the mail carrier with a certified letter addressed from TonDC. Her heart fluttered nervously in her chest as she signed for the envelope and shut the door with a muttered thank you. She fingered the sharp edges of the pristine white envelope boldly emblazoned with the prison's name and an urgent stamp, but was too afraid to open it.

Instead, she placed it gently down on the counter and went to her refrigerator, pulling out a half finished bottle of crisp white wine and pouring herself a generous glass. Eyeing the letter, she sipped at the wine and tried to work up the courage to open it. After all the long days of waiting, she should be eager to finally get her hands on this letter. She should have ripped it open before the carrier was even out of the doorway so she could put herself out of this misery, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it. The rest of her life hinged on the contents of that letter and even though it felt dramatic to think of it that way, it was the truth. If she got fired or even brought up on charges of criminal negligence, she wouldn't be able to work anywhere. They might take away her license. Not even her mother's extensive reach would be able to wipe that smudge away. It was bad enough that she was being reviewed. That alone might be enough to push her down the list for some of the more competitive positions if she ever chose to leave TonDC and she hated it. She hated the stain on her record and the guilt gnawing away inside her chest, but more than anything, she hated her weakness.

Never in her life had Clarke made such a colossal mistake and it was eating her up inside. Days of not knowing what was happening and coming to grips with the fact that in this moment she had absolutely no control over her future were slowly eroding her self esteem and sense of self worth, until she was here, in this emotional limbo. Alone and half drunk at ten o'clock in the morning, too afraid to open a letter that she'd spent hours and hours wishing for. It was ridiculous and Clarke couldn't help but laugh at herself. _How pathetic I've become!_

With one last bracing gulp, she set her glass down and strode to the counter. Scooping up the letter, she tore it open in one swift movement. She shook the letter out with trembling hands and smoothed it out flat against the dark surface of the island, delaying the moment when she'd have to actually read it for just a few more seconds as she took a seat on one of the guilty pleasure, art deco bar stools she'd allowed herself to purchase during her last trip to New York. Steeling herself for the worst, she took a deep breath and turned her eyes to the stark white paper.

The letter was short and to the point, robbing her of all the suspense she'd been expecting. She was absolved of all charges and free to return to work at her earliest convenience. It was everything she'd hoped for, but she was in shock and left feeling a little flat after the huge build up to nothing. For a moment she sat staring at the prison letterhead and trying to breath passed the rock in her chest, not yet daring to believe the good news. Then, a smile broke out on her face and she immediately picked up her phone to text Wells the good news only to realize that he was still on board a cruise ship somewhere in the Atlantic, steaming slowly back to the US with Callie, probably happy and totally oblivious to the hellish week she'd had.

Her phone hung limply in her hands for a few moments as she stared at the screen and wondered if it was finally time to do something about the thirty voice mail notifications or the seventy text messages since the party. With a sigh she opened her voice mail app and quickly scrolled through the list. Any with her mothers number were deleted unheard. She knew what Abby had to say and she didn't want to listen to it over and over again. Two were from Lincoln's number, one was from an unknown number, and another was from the prison's administrative extension. All the rest were from Octavia.

She listened to the one from TonDC first, but it was just a reiteration of what was in the letter. The woman's voice was pleasant but empty as she relayed the good news and politely ended the call. Lincoln and Octavia's were next and she smiled when she heard Octavia's shrill voice threatening her about picking up or returning her damn text messages followed by Lincoln's much calmer voice asking her to get ahold of them so they'd know everything was okay. The last message was from a number she didn't recognize, but there was no message. Just the sound of someone breathing and then jostling the phone before hanging up. It was odd, but not odd enough for Clarke to really bother about it, so instead she opened her text message app and scrolled threw the list of unread messages.

They were mostly from Octavia, more caps and exclamation points were present as she neared the end, but mostly they expressed one thing; worry, and the sentiment had Clarke's heart squeezing painfully in her chest. Her mother's were all some version of "really Clarke, how immature you're being" and the two from Lincoln were just pleas to answer Octavia before she drove him mad. This level of concern was unprecedented and it made Clarke feel warmer knowing that there were actually people who cared about her.

 _Sorry I've been a jerk. I'm fine, my arm and ankle are fine, I love you guys and I'm definitely not mad. Forgive me?_ She added a single tear emoji for good measure and set her phone down with a sigh. To her surprise the ellipses indicating that Octavia was typing appeared almost instantly.

 _Oh Clarke of course you're forgiven! You didn't even do anything wrong! I'm so sorry for my dick head brother. He can be such an asshole, but he means well…_

A relieved breath, that she hadn't even known she was holding, sighed through her lips and she smiled, cupping her chin in her palm as she typed back one handed.

 _I agree with at least part of that statement._ She replied with a winking face.

 _Haha… so when can we see you again? I know Lincoln is worried about you, but he wouldn't let me come check on you!_

Clarke sent up a silent thank you to Lincoln for understanding her well enough to know when she needed some space and made a mental note to buy him a bottle of scotch in repayment the next time she was downtown. She was a big enough person to admit that she'd been pretty shitty after the party and was thankful that they still even wanted to talk to her.

When they'd pulled up at her loft that night, she'd crawled out of the car, hobbled up the stairs on Lincoln's arm and disappeared inside with barely a mumbled thank you. She could admit to herself that she'd been a jerk and probably didn't deserve friends like them, but she was glad that Lincoln and Octavia wouldn't take it personally all the same.

 _I start back at work tomorrow, but I think I'm free this weekend if the rotation hasn't changed while I was gone._

 _WHAT?! They finally cleared you?! I'm so happy for you Clarke! OMG wait till I tell Lincoln!_

The small smile she'd started with was now a full blown grin and Clarke was happy that she had decided to share her news with someone who was just as happy about it as she was. If she was being honest, it was also nice to know that someone had actually been worried about her even if it was petty and self centered to feel that way.

 _Let's go out this weekend to celebrate!_

 _Sounds good._ Clarke text back quickly. It would be nice to see them again and maybe this time things wouldn't be so dramatic. They could just chill and have a good time. Clarke's nerves really couldn't take anything else at the moment.

 _Yay! I'll tell Lincoln to clear the calendar! I've got to go meet a client, but I'll talk to you later XOXO_

It was great having another person to talk to besides Wells, but a pang in her chest let her know just how much she still missed her best friend. His unwavering solidarity had been a constant since before she could remember and if she needed anything right now, it was something stable and familiar. He'd be back soon and the prospect of reliving the last several days when he returned was something that she both wished for and dreaded.

She got up, glanced around her messy apartment with a sigh and set to work cleaning up the disaster she'd let her life become one dust bunny at a time.

Work was the same. Same perky receptionist yammering about the weather. Same guard checking her bag and rushing her through the body scanner. Same antiseptic smell barely covering up fouler smells when she finally reached the medical wing. Same sour faced nurse greeting her with a glare that made her heart skip a beat.

Of all the details she'd agonized over when she'd thought about her awkward return to work, she'd somehow forgotten that nurse no name was still going to be around, silently judging her with beady little eyes and thin lips. She attempted a half smile, trying to say without speaking that everything was okay and she was willing to let things return to normal if she'd just give it a chance, but to her chagrin, the woman just continued to glare at her. Clarke could feel the dour woman's gaze burning into her back even after she rounded the corner and came face to face with her locked office door.

Clarke had never been big on confrontation and she sighed thinking about how weird it was going to be to try to work around the woman if she was going to make everything so awkward. As a doctor she was used to commanding a certain level of respect and compliance from the nursing staff, not out of a sense of grandiose, but simply because it was how the chain of command worked. If nurse no name didn't cool it soon Clarke would be forced to either confront her and make a spectacle or lose the rest of the staff's respect. She wondered if nurse no name knew it and was pushing her buttons to see if she'd react and Clarke felt resentment already starting to build in her chest at the idea that she was being manipulated. It was bad enough that half the inmates spent every waking moment thinking of ways to vex them, she didn't need it from the staff too!

Her plants were drooping in the window sill, having been ignored for so long while she was gone, so the first thing she did was water them and turn them toward the sun. Her desk had been recently dusted, but everything else was as she had left it including the stack of files perched precariously in her basket. It was good to know that for at least a little while she'd be able to hide in her office and bury herself in the tedium of sorting through files and completing reports.

A tap sounded on the door nearly an hour later, and Clarke looked up from the open file on her desk to see Thelonious standing in the doorway, casually leaning against the frame.

"Nice to have you back Clarke," he said, inspecting her over the rim of his wire frame glasses. She was glad that she'd taken extra time picking out her outfit for the day as she tried not to squirm under his scrutiny. "I hope there are no hard feelings. It was all a formality… standard procedure. I'm sure you understand."

His words were bland, voice calm, but Clarke couldn't help the feeling of uneasiness that trickled down her spine. A month ago, if you would have told her that she'd feel uneasy around Thelonious Jaha, she'd have laughed and thought you were an idiot, but now… now she wasn't sure where she stood with him and she didn't like it.

"Of course," she answered, eying him warily. "Is… is everything okay? Did … um… did Murphy recover okay?" she asked in a small voice. It was still painful to relive the mistakes she'd made that day, but part of her was dying to know about her patient. The only thing that had stopped her from calling to check up on him over the past week was the knowledge that no one would tell her anyway and it would very likely hurt her case.

"He's fine Clarke, don't beat yourself up about it. In fact, you probably saved his life," he looked at her with the same fatherly smile she'd seen a hundred times before and something in her chest eased. "The extra time he got to spend in the medical ward gave us the perfect opportunity to figure out what happened and make a plan for him when he goes back into general population. I'm sure he'll be grateful. After some investigation, Captain Blake has determined that the attack wasn't perpetrated by Shumway." He smiled at her relieved sigh. Shumway finding out about Murphy was just one of the many things that had been hanging over her head while she was gone. "No, our little mole will go right back into the group as he was before. In fact he will probably be even closer to Shumway now that he's… taken one for the team so to speak."

Clarke grimaced, but she understood what Thelonious was saying. Being attacked by a rival gang could potentially be very good for Bellamy and his informant. They would protect Murphy more fiercely now, probably even retaliate against the other gang. Not as revenge for what happened to Murphy, but as a sign that they wouldn't tolerate the disrespect. No matter the motivation, she was relieved that Murphy wouldn't be further hurt by what happened.

"Speaking of Captain Blake," Thelonious said clearing his throat, "he testified in front of the board on your behalf. No one blames you. Mistakes happen to all of us," he said with a kind, understanding smile.

Something in her chest roughly located were her heart should be, thawed and she smiled even as her mind picked over the new information. Bellamy had testified on her behalf? That was an odd development especially considering the events at the lake party. Events that she'd been trying desperately to shove into a small box in the back of her mind ever since.

On the surface, the news seemed good, but she wasn't quite sure if she was happy about Bellamy's interference or not. She certainly didn't want Bellamy thinking that she owed him anything and she would have rather she had been cleared on her own merits, not because one of the good ole boys had stood up for her, but in the end could beggars really be choosers? It wasn't exactly a secret the the board was made up of misogynistic older white men who still had problems wrapping their tiny minds around the idea of a "lady doctor" who could handle her own in a place like this, but it made her feel dirty somehow, knowing that their decision may have been swayed by anything that came out of Captain Blake's stupid smirking mouth!

"Anyway," Thelonious said clearing his throat and pulling Clarke out of her thoughts, "I have a meeting with the Governor and I don't want to keep you. I just wanted to welcome you back and suggest, if it's not to presumptions," he paused staring at her steadily, "that perhaps you start talking to Wells about all of this when he returns."

Clarke's face pulled down into a frown. Was he telling her to get counseling? Did she need it? Or was he speaking as the father of her best friend? It was almost a given that Clarke would talk to Wells about everything eventually, once he got back from vacation, but she wasn't going to ruin his time with Callie by throwing it all on him now.

"I plan to, when he gets back. I didn't want to bring all this up and worry him while he was away," she said only a little defensively, not liking being told what do do.

"Good… that's good. I haven't talked to him about anything either. I figured it would be best to let the two of you work it out when he got back," he said crossing the room as he spoke to drop a fatherly pat on her shoulder. She smiled up at him and gave his hand a little squeeze. "Well I'm off," he said, striding from her office with a little wave.

"Must be nice," someone muttered and Clarke's head snapped up to find Bellamy hovering in the open doorway. He must have come up silently, as usual, and she wondered how much of their conversation he'd overheard.

"Must be nice to have so little to do that you've got time to eavesdrop?" she asked sweetly, intentionally misunderstanding him. Bellamy's only response was to grunt and step further into the room.

He looked nervous which was new for him. His eyes skittered around her office, taking in all the little nonessential things she'd brought in to make it look less like a cell before bouncing off her face and finally landing on his feet, which he shuffled back and forth. If he was anyone else these nervous habits might have been endearing, but on him, she couldn't help but think that they looked contrived. Of course he would try to crawl back into her good graces. Octavia had put him up to it, she was sure, but unfortunately for him, she didn't want any part of it.

"I need to say something," he started, but Clarke quickly cut him off. No way in hell was she having this conversation right now, with the door wide open where anyone could be listening. It was just like Bellamy to try to force the issue.

"Don't," she said warningly. Those memories were something that she was positive didn't need to be rehashed.

"Clarke," he said harshly, anger igniting in his eyes when she didn't do exactly what he wanted.

But anger was kindling in her chest as well. How dare he come to her office on her first day back and expect her to do this! It's not like it was her responsibility to sit by docilely while he unburdened his guilty conscience. She didn't owe him that. She didn't own him anything, she decided as she stood and rounded the desk towards him.

"If you don't mind, _Captain Blake,_ it's my first day back and I have a lot to catch up on," she said hoping that he'd pick up on the emphasis on his title and let the matter drop.

"No," he stepped toward her, "I need to say this," he said looking pained.

"No, you don't. We were drunk, everyone's tempers were running high. It's fine," she said in a loud whisper, glancing nervously at the empty hallway.

"It was still… look… I'm sorry okay," he blurted out and then flushed.

The bright spots of color staining his dark cheeks were odd for Clarke. It made him look like an over grown boy apologizing for stealing a cookie off the pan or something and part of her wanted to smile and pat his cheek while the other parts wanted her to sneer and throw his apology back in his face. After the shit he'd pulled, fighting with Lincoln and hanging all over that girl after he'd forced himself on her, he deserved to be uncomfortable. He deserved to feel awkward and unsure, because that was how she'd felt for days afterward!

Hell, she'd spent the better part of last night thinking about this meeting and trying to come up with responses for every scenario she could think of, before forcing all the feelings surrounding that night's events down deep inside her and resolving to just let it be. There was no sense in poking at something that didn't need an explanation. She'd given him the truth. They were all drunk, the situation was tense and things got out of hand. That was how she saw it in her mind and she wasn't going to hold it against him if he would just let it go, but with Bellamy being Bellamy, that was looking unlikely.

"Okay, thank you for saying that," she said giving him good eye contact so he'd know she was okay with everything and hopefully just leave.

"Clarke I…" but he was cut off by the sound of the intercom paging her to exam room four.

She said thank you to whoever had called, meaning it more than they probably knew, and walked passed Bellamy without a backward glance. He didn't follow her, not that she looked back to check, and she was grateful. Things just needed to go back to normal, or at least as normal as possible given the odd circumstances.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door and plastered a false smile on her face. It probably wasn't pretty, but it was the best she could muster and the patients here weren't likely to complain anyway.

The morning passed by much the same as it always had, and by the time her lunch hour rolled around, her mind was pleasantly distracted by differential diagnosis and developing treatment plans with her limited resources. Setting her phone to busy, she left her office to head to the break room, stopping only to let the nurses know what she was doing. Thankfully, nurse no name was nowhere to be seen, so she was saved the embarrassment of trying to sneak passed the nurses station. It would have been smart to pack a lunch so she didn't have to feed herself out of the vending machine, but she'd been too distracted with worrying about the day to remember to do it this morning.

A locked, dingy green door labeled only with staff, passed for their break room, and not for the first time she felt a little sorry for the people who didn't have an office to retreat to. The disparity between classes was evident even amongst staff here at TonDC and she took a few minutes, studying the vending machine selections, to consider how interesting a study this place would be to psychology and anthropology students.

Someone cleared their throat behind her, bringing her abruptly out of her thoughts, and she cast a brief, apologetic smile over her shoulder, before making a selection at random and retreating to the counter holding an industrial coffee maker percolating what was probably the dozenth pot of the day. The more she looked around the room, the more wary and unsure of herself she felt. Most of the people in here this time of day were guards and while none of them were being openly hostile, she could definitely pick up on the coolness in the room.

No one was looking at her and no one was talking. She had the distinct impression that only a few moments ago, when she'd first entered the room, there had been several conversations going on, but now the only sound in the room was the drip of the coffee machine and the monotonous drone of some daytime television program from the corner where an ancient box television was perched precariously on a rickety wooden table.

As much as it hurt her feeling, she understood. These men were the ones standing between her and some of the most violent criminals in the state and she had put them all in danger when she'd accidentally left Murphy alone with access to weapons. It made her feel dirty to be glad that Murphy had been so emotionally damaged by his attack that he'd only been thinking about harming himself, because something as insignificant as a needle could be turned into a deadly weapon in seconds in a place like this. If he'd been a little more himself he could have smuggled something with him into general population and caused some real chaos.

Guilt had her shoulders sagging and she decided to forgo coffee in favor of fleeing the chilly atmosphere inside the room as quickly as possible. She was pretty sure she still had a few bottles of water in her office somewhere and if nothing else, she'd fill up a cup in the restroom sink. Anything would be preferable to waiting another five minutes in this room while everyone tried to ignore her without being rude enough to risk a write up.

The rest of the day was spent seeing patients and avoiding people. She didn't even attempt to talk to the friendly inmates that mopped the hallways like she usually did in between exam rooms, reasoning that if she toed the line and followed all of their rules, maybe eventually the guards would forgive her or at least forget to be so angry.

Not for the first time, she regretted how little effort she'd made to get to know any of them. Maybe if she had, she'd have had a few people on her side to make this easier. As it were, she'd just have to wait them out and hope for the best. It wasn't like she'd ever really gotten on anyones bad side before, or at least not that she knew of, so surely it wouldn't take them long to come around. After all, she mostly just kept to herself and did her job. It was what she'd been doing for years, even before she came here and while she knew that some people saw it as being standoffish, it was really just that she didn't form connections easily.

The sudden frigid attitudes from people she normally had at least a cordial relationship with also made her wonder just how much of their jokes and smiles were because of Bellamy. He had a great report with all of the guards and most of the rest of the staff as well. Even when they wanted to punch him in the face, they still loved him. She knew for a fact that more than one of the nurses had a crush on him, because she'd overheard their giggling and had seen their sidelong glances. Hell, even most of the inmates seemed to like him. Maybe his constant insistence on forcing her out of her shell had been what made them open to her in the first place and now that he'd withdrawn his approval they wouldn't like her anymore either.

It wasn't a pleasant thought, and as she gathered up her purse and keys in preparation for the end of her shift, she promised that tomorrow she would make an effort to get to know them better. Maybe not all of them, that was a daunting task even for someone less socially awkward than she was, but she could at least try a little small talk. It wasn't much, but it was a start, and she felt better knowing that she at least had the beginnings of a plan.

Unfortunately, the next day saw an influx of flu patients and Wells' return. She barely had time to sneak in a quick break around midday to pop in and welcome Wells back, let alone start on her quest to learn everyone's name without being obvious about it. By the time her shift was over, her feet were swollen and her lower back was throbbing and all she wanted to do was go home, climb into her bed and sleep for a solid ten hours.

It seemed that wasn't likely to happen though because just as she was shutting down her computer and locking her desk drawers, she heard a gentle knock on her open door and looked up to find Wells standing in the doorway with a very serious look on his face.

"So… have you come to tell me all about your romantic getaway?" she asked with a small smile, knowing the look on his face all too well and hoping that she could throw him off for at least a little while.

"My trip was great," he said quietly as he stepped into the room and shut the door behind him.

Clarke let out a sigh and sat back in her chair. She kicked off her flats and tucked her feet underneath her, determined to be as comfortable as possible for the long talk that she was about to be subjected to. Wells hadn't said anything, but she could tell from his posture as he took a seat across the desk from her, that she was about to be scolded.

"I've heard some of the gossip going around today," he said, studying her seriously, but refusing to elaborate.

She rolled her eyes, but smiled at him. It was so like Wells to start a conversation about what he wanted to know about and then stop and wait her out without actually revealing what he was thinking. It was his method and he knew her well enough to know that she'd eventually crack and spill her guts if he just waited long enough. This tactic had been employed plenty of times in the past with not only her, but also his patients and it was effective to say the least.

"You shouldn't listen to gossip Wells," she said with a halfhearted shrug.

He just continued his silent staring and she huffed in frustration. She wasn't exactly sure what all gossip was going around right now, but surely none of it was good. The fact that he looked a hundred times more serious now than he had a few hours ago when she'd stopped by his office didn't paint a pretty picture of what the rest of the prison was saying about her. Honestly, her body was exhausted and she wasn't sure how much she wanted to get into tonight. Some wounds were still too fresh and she didn't feel like picking at them quite yet, not even with Wells, so she'd have to play a fine balancing act to figure out how much he knew without divulging too much.

"How's Callie?" She tried one last attempt to distract him, but it failed horribly. He just templed his fingers, exactly like his father coincidentally, and frowned at her.

"Clarke," he said in his 'I'm not playing around' voice.

"Fine, fine," she said throwing her hands up in surrender. "Some stuff happened while you were gone."

"Yes, I surmised as much," he said with a brief smile. "When exactly were you planning on telling me Clarke?"

His face looked so sad that she almost caved and told him everything, almost. "I was going to tell you when you'd had time to settle back in. I didn't want to interrupt your trip with all of my problems."

"You are never an interruption," he said gently and it brought instant tears to her eyes, which she blinked back furiously, hoping that he hadn't noticed.

"I almost killed someone Wells," she admitted sadly. Her eyes were trained on her desk, because she didn't want to face whatever she'd see on his face. If it was compassion she'd lose it for sure and if it was judgment… well, she wasn't sure she could handle any more of that right now either.

"I read the report Clarke. I know that it feels that way right now and your feelings, whatever they are, are totally valid, but you have to eventually accept that it was a mistake and that no one is immune to making mistakes." His voice was gentle, coaxing her into looking at him and when she finally did, he was sitting there, calm and steady just like he always had been, and tears once again blurred her vision. This time she didn't try to push them back, it seemed unlikely that she was going to leave here tonight without a few being spilled anyway.

"I don't recall you ever fucking up this bad," she said bitterly. With anyone else, she might have been worried that her tone would be taken as resentment, but she knew that Wells would understand that all of the negative feelings were directed inward, reserved exclusively for torturing herself.

"Actually Clarke," he said sitting back and crossing one leg over the other at knee and ankle, "I have."

She looked up at him quizzically, torn completely from her self loathing, by his admission. This was a story that she'd never heard before and she thought by now that they knew all of each others stories. He must have seen the confusion on her face, because when he looked back at her he sighed and his shoulders drooped wearily, but he gave good eye contact as he began talking.

"When I was doing my internship, right after med school, before I went back for my doctorate, I met this girl. She looked about my age and she came into my office with a sad story just like so many others. I was tired that day, you know how crazy being on call those first few years can be," he said and she nodded in understanding. She knew the rigors of becoming a doctor all too well. "Anyway," he added, finally looking away to stare out the window, "I listened to her talk for an hour or so and then I pushed her out of the office. I dismissed her feelings. Chalked it up to just another unfortunate junkie that got caught up in the life ya know?"

He didn't pause for her to answer, nor did his eyes leave the window, but she nodded anyway. She wasn't sure were he was going with this story, but she could sense that there wasn't going to be a happy ending. Wells' eyes were distant and he was smoothing the sharp crease in his slacks the way he did when he was agitated. Clarke thought about stopping him. This was obviously an old pain, something deep and dark that he'd spent time torturing himself over and she really shouldn't make him relive it, but she was selfish and she needed to know. She needed to hear that someone else had made a mistake as terrible as hers.

"I called a cab for her and paid the fee for her to go to a nearby shelter and then I went home. It wasn't until a week later, when my supervisor was reviewing follow ups, that I realized I'd never even bothered to make another appointment with her. I let her walk out of the office, alone and in pain, and I never even thought about her after."

"Wells," Clarke interrupted, "you can't save everyone." Before she could say anything more, he cut her off, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she had spoken. He was too caught up in the memory to hear her and she regretted not stopping this sooner. She didn't want to know how the story ended, not anymore, not if it meant that Wells would be upset.

"I saw her picture in the obituaries that Monday," he said quietly. "Turns out, she was a runaway, barely seventeen, and trying to get away from a sexually abusive foster family. The news ran a story on the family after they found her. Apparently she wasn't the only girl that had suffered in that house," he said and his eyes were haunted. "She overdosed on heroin the night she left my office. She died alone in a gutter with no one there to help her. The police didn't find her body for days. Not until some inner city kids stumbled on her remains."

"Oh Wells, I'm so sorry," Clarke said coming around the desk to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"She was pregnant, Clarke," he said looking up at her angrily this time. "That bastard got her pregnant and she came to me alone and scared and looking for help and I sent her away like she meant nothing. Like her life wasn't even worth the time to listen."

"You can't help that she didn't tell you what was going on. You would have helped her if you had known," Clarke said soothingly.

"That's the thing though. I should have known. I've went over that hour a million times in my head and she showed all of the symptoms. Every sign was there, just begging for me to see it, but I was tired. Tired and over worked and careless. Because of that, two people lost their lives."

Clarke dropped to her knees beside his chair and wrapped her arms around him. He didn't return the hug at first, but she stayed were she was and eventually his arm found its way around her back and she felt him give her a gentle squeeze before he pushed her back.

"So you see Clarke, you're not the only one who makes mistakes," he said staring at her intently. The unspoken fact that Murphy survived her mistake hung heavy in the air, but neither of them said it.

After a moment she nodded and returned to her chair. "I'm sorry that, that happened to you Wells," she said into the silence. "And I'm sorry that I've been such a shit about all of this," she added.

"I didn't come in here to place blame or pass judgment Clarke. And I didn't tell you that story to make you feel like your problems are insignificant," he added glaring at her because he must have known that's exactly how she felt. "I told you so that you would stop beating yourself up about not being perfect. No one is perfect. Not even Abigail Griffin's daughter," he said with a smile when she grimaced.

Her mother's high standards and strict parenting were a familiar topic for them. Wells knew just how hard Clarke had worked to step out of her mother's perfect shadow. He, more than anyone, knew how much the idea of not living up to the Griffin name drove her forward. It always had, even when she was little. She had to be the most reserved child, the most polite and well behaved. She learned her manners and developed a keen awareness of others opinions early on in a vain attempt to earn one of her mother's paltry smiles, but it hadn't helped. Her mother had remained reserved and distant no matter how good she was. Thinking about it still hurt sometimes.

It wasn't until her dad died that she finally stopped living her life to please her mother. In fact, she'd tried pretty hard to do the exactly opposite for awhile. Not that, that kept her from pushing herself to be better. The illusion of perfection was too finely ingrained by then. She couldn't help but push herself, but in the end, graduating with honors from one of the most prestigious schools on the planet, wasn't as satisfying as she thought it would be.

"Okay, okay. Neither of us are perfect, I fucked up, but it's not the end of the world. I get what you're saying, can we drop it now?" she asked, rubbing at her tired eyes and trying to force a smile.

"Sure. We've got plenty of time to talk now that I'm back," he said and laughed when she groaned and covered her face with her hands. "Nothing formal, but I know that you're not telling me the whole story," he added.

"Fine," she said grudgingly and then rose with him as he stood, slipping her shoes back on and grabbing her things off the desk. He followed her out into the hall and stood over her as she locked the door before following her out to the parking lot, chatting casually about his trip as they went.

"I love you Wells," she said sincerely as she stepped into her car.

"I know," he said and shut her door for her with a smile.

"Ass," she muttered as she started the engine and she smiled when she heard him chuckle. Turning the radio up, she drove back to the loft feeling lighter than she had in awhile. It would be hard, but she'd work to make people believe in her again. She'd pour every once of effort she had into making sure nothing like this ever happened again and she knew Wells would be there helping her along the whole way.

Their informal sessions continued throughout the week and by Friday she'd told him everything. He'd listened with a frown when she'd explained all the things she'd left out about her weekend with Finn, but thankfully, he wasn't angry. He'd asked her how she felt about it now and told her how sorry he was that it had happened, but they'd moved past it fairly quickly. She was sure that he'd bring it up again later, but for now he seemed content to just let her ramble on about whatever was on her mind that day. They talked about Octavia and she laughed when he got that jealous look in his eye when she told him about reconnecting with Lincoln.

He should know by now that their friendship couldn't be threatened by her friendship with Lincoln, but some old battles die hard, so she tried to lighten the mood by pointing out that he'd found someone else too. Wells scoffed at the implication that he was trying to replace her with Callie, but in the end they both wound up laughing and the tension passed.

There was no judgment in his eyes when she told him about her drinking or how she'd locked herself in her apartment for days and barely showered, just understanding. He cautioned her on the seriousness of using alcohol to cope and she rolled her eyes and told him she'd need three bottles of wine to cope with his therapy.

It was almost like things were normal, back to the way they were before he left and Finn broke her heart, but then she had to go and ruin it by mentioning her encounter at the lake. His posture changed as soon as she started talking about Bellamy and she could tell that he was more upset than he was letting on.

"It was no big deal Wells. Everyone was drunk and things got out of hand." It struck her then, that this wasn't the first time she'd used that defense to explain what happened, but unlike the other times, Wells wasn't buying it. A muscle in his jaw twitched and she could see that he was pressing his lips together to keep from saying something in anger that he might regret, but she was helpless to change what she'd said. If she could shove all of the words back inside her mouth she would, but it was too late and she'd have to deal with the fall out, whatever it might be.

After a few uncomfortable minutes in which Clarke cleared her throat a lot and looked anywhere but at him, he blew out a gust of air and shook his head. "You should have pressed charges. And you certainly don't need to be alone with him anymore. I mean it Clarke, not even in your office here," he said sternly.

She smiled at him because she knew that he meant it kindly, but she also had no intention of listening. "There's nothing to press and I can't exactly ban him from my office," she said smirking at his frown. "Besides, he did testify on my behalf in front of the board and what happened that night wasn't anyones fault."

The investigation perpetrated by his father was still a sore subject. She didn't blame Thelonious. An inquiry was necessary in order for the prison to cover it's ass, but Wells didn't see it quite that way. While the specifics of Wells' and his father's current disagreement weren't clear, Clarke knew that at least part of it had to do with her and it made her sad. Over the years Wells and Thelonious had, had quite a few arguments. They were always quiet and civilized, nothing like her fights with her mother, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt both of them any less. She wished, not for the first time, that she could go back in time and change that day if for no other reason than it would keep Wells from being upset with his dad.

When he found out about the investigation, he'd apologized on his father's behalf and then they didn't talk about it again, agreeing to disagree. It wasn't like she wanted to spend a lot of time dwelling on whether Bellamy was the reason she was cleared anyway. She preferred to think that by some miracle, the crusty old men on the board had looked at her long untarnished record and made the sensible decision. It was unlikely, but better than thinking about the alternative.

"It doesn't matter. Doing the right thing one time out of ten doesn't make him a good person, Clarke. I know that you don't socialize with a lot of the staff," he paused at her outraged snort, "I know that you've been trying to do better this week and I applaud that, but the fact is, you don't know about him or the things that he's done around here."

She bit back a retort because technically he was right. Never one to get caught up in gossip, she didn't pay too much attention to what was going around the TonDC gossip mill, but she surmised from the disapproval in his voice that whatever it was, it must not be good.

"You know how people are," she said, rolling her eyes and trying not to get irritated. After the disaster with Finn, anything that reminded her that sometimes paying attention to the gossip was a good thing, really rubbed her the wrong way.

"Yes, Clarke I do. And let's just say that because of confidentiality reasons, I can't discuss all of it with you, but suffice it to say that he's a womanizing jerk who gets off on manipulating people. He's no better than half of the inmates!" Wells practically yelled.

It wasn't like him to lose control of his emotions and it made her curious about what exactly he knew about Captain Blake that was bad enough to illicit this kind of response. If he was using confidentiality as an excuse then it must involve staff and that just made her think about all the flirtatious nurses. She frowned, playing back all of their interactions in her head, looking for things that could be considered inappropriate, but other than his obnoxious attitude and disregard for social boundaries, she really couldn't think of anything that bad. Excluding what she'd now dubbed "the lake incident" that is.

"That's a bold statement," she said noncommittally. It wasn't like she wanted Wells to violate his patient's rights, but she figured that if she pushed just a little he'd elaborate more and she might be able to piece it together.

"You must know about the deals he makes with the inmates. He's an asshole that preys on people, Clarke, and I don't want him doing that to you!"

She and Wells had different feelings about the tactics used to gather information from the inmates. Both of them felt like the system was very often unjust and that some of the staff treated the inmates more like cattle than real people, but she was often torn between the morality and necessity of inmate manipulation. Wells' moral compass was unwavering and he had his own personal crusade going to stop Bellamy from "endangering the inmates," but Clarke could see the practicality of it.

Did she think that taking advantage of people at their lowest was morally objectionable? Absolutely, but she also knew that the information that Bellamy and some of the other guards gathered with their extensive informant networks kept people safe. Not just the people inside the building, although it was that too, but innocent people on the outside who would otherwise be swept up in revenge violence and other plots were protected also.

Many of the prisoners housed here had the ability to cause havoc on the inside and outside, and if offering some low level drug dealer a few cartons of cigarettes or whatever they bartered with, kept even one person safe wasn't it worth it? Sometimes she wondered if Wells' uncompromising morality was a strength or a weakness. And along that vein, did her moral ambiguity compromise her principals to the point that it made her a bad person?

"No one is taking advantage of me," she said, pulling herself out of her thoughts. "At least now that Finn is gone," she said and tried to smile. Wells sighed and she knew that he'd let it drop. She'd been getting better about saying Finn's name without an onslaught of unstable emotions overwhelming her and Wells wasn't about to jeopardize her progress by pushing the matter and she knew it. "I have to get back to work."

"Clarke," he called when she reached his door, "just… just look out for yourself okay?"

There was so much sincerity in his voice that she couldn't bother getting mad about the implication that she couldn't take care of herself. Instead she smiled softly at him and nodded, before pulling the door open and heading back to her office. If she hurried, she'd have enough time to eat a few bites of her sandwich before her lunch hour ended.

The hallways were unusually quiet for a Friday afternoon. Most days there were more people hanging around, talking about weekend plans and grumbling over night shifts, but as she walked to her office, all she could hear was the click of her heels on the linoleum.

She smiled at the nurses when she passed the nurses station and was gratified when all of them except Nurse no name, whom she'd actually discovered was named Diana, smiled back at her. Progress was slow, but she'd been trying all week to be friendlier and was finally starting to see results, which made her smile even wider.

Her mood lightened considerably more when one of the guards, Miller she thought he was called, who had never previously spoken to her, passed her with a nod and a smile. This was all easier than she expected, she mused as she unlocked her door and stepped inside.

Her lunch box was waiting for her and she didn't waste any time digging in. She'd probably lost five pounds this week, skipping lunches to visit Wells, but it was worth it. The demands of their jobs and personal lives didn't always afford them time to just sit down and talk anymore, so it was nice to have an uninterrupted hour or so just to talk even if it was technically "therapy" and Warden Jaha was apparently checking up on it.

Two bites into her turkey on rye, her office door swung open with a bang that rattled the frames on her wall and forced her heart into her throat. She let out a startled yelp, dropping her sandwich and nearly knocking over her drink. A very familiar looking brunette was standing just inside her office, chest heaving under her maintenance jumpsuit and looking furious.

Clarke was trying to regulate the pounding of her heart and scrambling to come up with a reason why one of the prison engineers would be bursting in her door when something clicked into place in her head. The ugly gray uniform did nothing to diminish the beauty of her olive skin or exotic eyes and Clarke's stomach lurched painfully as she remembered where she'd seen her before. It was like she was back in that restaurant all over again, looking on in horror as Finn's eyes met hers followed shortly by this woman's confused stare.

"How dare you!" the woman growled, advancing on Clarke where she sat dumbfounded behind her desk. "I knew that you were an entitled stuck up bitch, but I never pictured you as the type that would steal someone else's fiance."

 _Oh God… they were engaged!_ Clarke recoiled in horror, her chest felt tight and she was aware that she was no longer breathing. "I'm sorry… I … I didn't know." It was the truth and it hurt to say it, but she hoped that the girl would be able to read the honesty on her face.

"Sure you didn't," she snarled, stopping right in front of Clarke's desk and glaring down at her. "You saw us there together and you thought what? That we were brother and sister or something?"

"Honestly, I had no idea. I was as shocked as you were when I saw you both there, but then Finn text me and… and I thought you were just friends or you were related or something. I mean I should have known better, but it was what I wanted to hear so that's what I heard," she said dropping her head into her palms and massaging her temples.

Of course Finn was engaged and of course his fiance worked here. Clarke was beginning to feel like this city, with its hundreds of thousands of people, was a little too small! She wasn't prepared for this confrontation. After all of the days of radio silence from Finn, she'd reconciled herself to the fact that she'd never understand what happened or get an explanation. It was over and that's all she needed to know.

Sure, she could have got online and searched for some of the trashy tabloid articles detailing Finn's pursuits. She could have asked Wells to give her the finer points if she couldn't bring herself to read about his life. Hell, she could have hired a personal investigator and found out _all_ of his secrets if she'd wanted to, but the truth was she was a coward. She was guilty and ashamed of what she'd done, what she'd allowed him to do, and she didn't want to face it even if it would have brought her a small amount of closure.

"You're a fucking liar!" the woman screeched and launched herself across the desk. Clarke was too shocked to do anything more than blink stupidly at her before a small tan fist connected with her face.

The shock of impact snapped Clarke's head back and toppled her chair. She ended up in a heap on the floor cowering under the angry onslaught of a crazy woman who was screaming and crying and hitting her anywhere that she could reach.

"Finn didn't text you! He wouldn't. You pushed him. You pursued him. He didn't want this! He wanted me you lying piece of shit!" she screamed while Clarke tried to cover her face and at the same time shake her off, but as small as she was, the woman was strong and being carried along on a wave of adrenaline. There was no way that Clarke was getting out from under her without fighting back which she refused to do.

"Please stop," Clarke cried out, trying to get her to see reason. "I didn't know okay! I would never do something like that!"

"You're a liar, just like all the others. You knew he was engaged and you went after him anyway, trying to take him away from me! He's the only family I've got left," the girl said brokenly and suddenly all of the fight went out of her.

Clarke felt the girls body sag as tears took over and she scooted off Clarke to bury her face in her hands. It was, at the same time, the most bizarre and heartbreaking thing Clarke thought she had ever seen and for a brief moment she considered reaching out to her, but a painful twinge near her eye brought her back to reality. This woman had attacked her, she was obviously unstable and the last thing she probably wanted was any kind of comfort from her fiance's lover.

Neither of them had registered the pounding on her door, but suddenly it was bursting open and several guards spilled in including Bellamy, who assessed the situation in seconds and swiftly moved to the sobbing brunette's side. She thought at first that he meant to embrace her and in that moment another piece of the puzzle she hadn't even known she was solving fell into place.

She'd only seen them briefly, for a few moments as they passed in the hall, but she remembered the girl in the dull gray uniform walking beside Bellamy with her face shoved in a manual and the look that he'd given Clarke as she passed. Bellamy must know her! He must be friends with this woman and that's how he knew Finn!

It all made so much sense. The dark looks and semi threats. His immediate and, at the time, seemingly unwarranted hatred of Finn. Bellamy had been trying to tell her that Finn was no good without actually saying it from the moment he'd first heard Wells mention their date and she'd been to stubborn to see it! God, if there was anyway that she could feel more like shit, she wasn't sure how.

Clarke watched in stunned silence as Bellamy handcuffed the woman and led her out of the room not looking at all happy about it. By the time she came to her senses enough to get up out of the floor and right her desk chair, a small crowd had formed outside her door, each of them jostling to get a better view of the drama within. It was a spectacle to be sure, but she really just wanted everyone to leave. The show was over after all.

Clearing her throat, Clarke gestured for one of the guards to come closer. He was new, and so young that she wondered how he'd even gotten hired, but he came over willingly and bent down so she could speak to him quietly. "Do you think you could clear everyone out? The incident is over and surely these people have better things to do," she suggested gently.

He glanced back at the crowd and nodded briefly before walking back to the doorway and backing people up. "Come on, shows over," he said to disgruntled employees who'd worked here far longer and clearly didn't like a newbie telling them what to do, but he straightened his spine and held firm.

Angry muttering could be heard as the crowd dispersed. Several people were asking what happened to Raven and she assumed that, that was the girls name. Knowing her name didn't lessen the pain of having so thoroughly destroyed someones life. In fact, it probably made it worse because now she was real. A real person with real feelings that had a name and if she remembered the shouted words correctly, no family but Finn. Clarke couldn't bring herself to be mad at the other woman, she was only sad for her.

If even half of what she'd said came out of Finn's mouth then it was no wonder Raven had reacted the way she did. Finn was an unscrupulous bastard and Clarke was only beginning to realize how low he'd go to get what he wanted. Suddenly, she was very glad that he'd never tried to contact her again. This way, Clarke wouldn't have to hear any of the lies he'd so obviously been spoon feeding his fiance.

When the last gawker left she smiled gratefully to the new guard and gently shut the door to her office. Her turkey sandwich was lying in a heap on the floor and several files were scattered about so she took a few moments to straighten things up before sitting back heavily in her chair and digging around in her desk for an icepack.

The swelling hadn't started yet and she was hopeful that she'd be able to head off the worst of it before it even started. Her eye was surely bruised and she wondered how much concealer it would take to cover up the mess, but all in all it wasn't too bad and she was grateful that it hadn't been worse. The plastic of the ice pack was rough against her cheek and it stung when she pressed it to her face, but she gritted her teeth and left it there. A little pain was nothing compared to how bad Finn's fiance must be feeling.

Thoughts of Raven and Finn were still swirling through Clarke's mind when her door burst open again. This time she was quicker to react, flying out of her chair so fast that it fell over backwards, ready to run for all she was worth if it was necessary, but as it turned out it was only Bellamy. Clarke glared at him as she picked up her chair for the second time in an hour and thought about giving him a piece of her mind. It would feel good to vent her frustration on him, but it wouldn't be helpful to anyone so she just flopped back down in her seat and continued to glare at him silently over her ice pack.

"Why the fuck was your door locked Clarke?" he started when he realized that she wasn't going to say anything.

For a moment she was confused. Clearly if he and Raven were both able to barge in, it wasn't locked, but then she remembered hearing thudding on the door while Raven was on top of her and she frowned. "I don't know. I didn't think it was," she said tiredly.

"Well that's the problem isn't it sweetheart? You've got all those big brains in your pretty little head, but you can't use them for shit," he said disgusted. "Maybe if you had used your head in the first place none of this would have happened." He was still standing just barely inside her office, but he'd moved enough that the door swung closed behind him. They were alone, no one except the two of them to witness her scolding, but somehow she didn't feel relieved.

"That's ridiculous!" she said, astonished that he would come in here and accuse her of anything after what had just happened. It was his job to keep the peace in this place and he couldn't even stop one willowy brunette from barging into her office and pummeling her face! "How could I possibly have known that the fiance, which I didn't even know Finn had, worked here? I had no idea I was the other woman Bellamy," she said and her heart clenched painfully at the reminder that she was nothing better than someone's second choice.

"Maybe if you climbed down out of your ivory tower and actually got to know any of the people you work with, you might have realized that Raven was engaged to someone named Finn. It's not a very common name. Hell, I'd be surprised if anyone else on the planet had such a stupid fucking name!" Bellamy shouted.

His chest was heaving and his voice was raised and for the life of her, Clarke couldn't figure out why he was _this_ angry. He and Raven were friends, she understood that and she could understand being upset on your friends behalf, but it didn't warrant this level of anger. This seemed personal somehow and she couldn't quite figure out what was going on. A pounding headache had erupted behind her eye and Bellamy bellowing at her wasn't helping anything. However, a big part of her felt like she deserved this, like maybe she'd even deserved the right hook as punishment for what she'd done with Finn.

The truth was that she _should_ have known better. She should have listened to Wells and his stories about the tabloids or to Indra when she'd said he was rotten. Even the fact that Finn was always texting and calling at odd hours, or the fact that it was so hard to arrange dates should have tipped her off. Clarke knew she should have known that he was hiding something and that his behavior wasn't normal, but she had chalked it up to his work and being busy. In short, she hadn't wanted to see it so she didn't.

"Raven is a good person and now she'll probably lose her job! That piece of shit Finn is her only family and now she's going to lose that too," he said glaring angrily at her. Clarke dropped her face and refused to meet his eyes. Everything he said was just another added weight to the pile of guilt amassing on her shoulders. "Or worse, she'll stay with him and he'll destroy her one bimbo like you at a time."

Tears formed in Clarke's eyes, but he either didn't notice or he didn't care. Her head was so ducked in shame that her chin nearly rested on her chest and she could feel the tears pattering against her legs as they fell, slowly at first and then faster and faster. Bellamy was right. She'd been blinded by Finn's charm and let herself believe his lies and now she'd ruined someone's life. Raven was probably a really nice girl, not that it even mattered, but knowing that Bellamy thought so highly of her made it a hundred times worse because Clarke knew just how hard it was to get in his good graces.

"Did you think you were special Clarke? That your lily white, pampered ass would be the one that finally stopped him. Do you honestly think that you're any better than the string of other girls he's run in and out of their bed?" he asked meanly through gritted teeth.

She shook her head slightly and choked back the first sob, but he didn't stop and really she didn't want him to. This was the truth and she deserved to hear it even if it wasn't in the nicest way possible. Part of her knew that she probably wasn't Finn's only conquest, especially after what Raven had said about "all the others," but having it thrown in her face like this was particularly harsh and her heart quivered a little after every word. She felt like someone was beating away at it like a punching bag, but she didn't even try to stop Bellamy or defend herself. There was no defense for her actions.

"Of course you probably did. Precious, perfect Clarke Griffin would just waltz right in and snatch whatever she wanted without bothering to consider who else it would hurt, right? That's how you blue bloods do it, isn't it? You just step on all us little people to get to where you need to be and then act like the victims when shit hits the fan!" he yelled, far passed the point of being able to stop himself.

His tirade seemed less and less about her and Finn and more like a personal vendetta against the upper class, but she wasn't going to point that out. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs as she tried to keep quiet and wait for him to run out of steam. Never in million years would she have imagined herself sitting docilely by while someone talked her like a child and accused her of being the worst kind of human, but after the way Raven had looked at her, so crushed, so vulnerable and conflicted, when they'd finally subdued her, Clarke resolved to take her castigation without protest.

Suddenly, Bellamy was thrust forward, interrupted in the middle of another harsh criticism, as the door hit him from behind and Wells burst into the room. Clarke's head snapped up in time to see Wells rushing towards her and she let the ice pack fall to the floor as she reached a hand out to him in supplication. As much as she deserved Bellamy's words, she wasn't sure how much her already battered heart could take. Wells had never been a more welcome sight.

Bellamy visibly froze as he got the first clear look at her face. It must have looked pretty bad if his shocked expression was any indication. So much for the ice pack helping, she thought, staring dejectedly at where it lay on the floor near her feet.

"Clarke, your face!" Wells exclaimed, taking her chin between his fingers and turning her face to his. After a gentle examination in which he must have determined that she wasn't too badly injured, he rose and turned to face Bellamy. "What the hell are you doing? I could hear shouting all the way down the hall and her eye is almost swollen shut! So help me God, I will see you fired for this," he said furiously.

If Wells could hear them all the way down the hall, she wondered just how many other people had heard Bellamy and his accusations. Her face flushed crimson, making the swollen parts pound in time with her pulse. "Wells, Bellamy didn't do this," she said cupping her throbbing cheek. "It was Finn's…" she gulped down a fresh wave of tears and took a deep breath before continuing, "his fiance. She apparently works here. And… I suppose she found out about me somehow and came to confront me."

"I don't care if he was the one that hit you or not," Wells fumed. "He has no right to speak to you the way he did and he needs to leave, now," he said with a cold finality that Clarke had never heard in his voice before.

"Clarke, I'm … sorry," Bellamy said, stepping toward them like he meant to try to apologize or perhaps comfort her.

"Stop," she said firmly when she felt Wells stepping forward to meet him. "That's enough, both of you. Bellamy you should leave," she said not looking at him. Her voice came out weak and shaky, not at all like she intended, but it got the message across all the same.

"Clarke…" he said and there was regret in his voice, but she was far passed caring.

"She said go," Wells said low and threatening. Clarke didn't think that Wells would actually hurt anyone, but he certainly sounded like he was thinking about it so she placed a gentle hand on his arm and shook her head when he looked down at her.

Thankfully, Bellamy turned and left. The door clicking behind him, was the only thing that alerted her to his departure. She smiled at Wells when he picked up the ice pack from where it landed at her feet and handed it back to her. She could see his better nature winning out over his anger and she was glad. No one else needed to be hurt by this situation, least of all Wells.

"Was she a fairly large woman?" Wells asked casually, sitting down on the corner of her desk. His tone was light and playful, no traces of anger left, but she could still see the tension in his shoulders. He was trying to push past his own feelings in order to cheer her up in the way that only a best friend could and it almost made her smile because it was just so typically Wells.

"No," she retorted shoving his chest, "but I wasn't really expecting someone to come bursting through my door today demanding vengeance."

"Vengeance huh?" he asked with a smile. "Well did Menelaus get what she was seeking?"

"I don't know," she said glaring at him ineffectually. "How does my face look?"

"Like you got hit by a mac truck," he said, but grinned.

"God Wells," she groaned, pillowing her head in her arms. "When the fuck is this week going to end?" Speaking literally, her hell week had lasted longer than seven days, but she was confident that Wells would understand what she meant anyway.

"I guess that depends on your view of what day the week begins on. I'm a Monday man myself. So that means you've got at least two more days," he said and chuckled when she groaned.

"I'm going to need liver failure inducing amounts of alcohol if thats the case," she said standing up and dropping the ice pack in her waste bin.

"Now Clarke," he started in his doctor voice, but she cut him off.

"Liver. Failure. Inducing. Amounts. Wells," she said mock seriously.

"Fine, but make sure you're doing it safely. I don't have the weekend off like some people, so I won't be there to babysit you."

"Like I've ever needed a babysitter!" she scoffed and then laughed at his raised eyebrows.

"Are you going to press charges?" he asked and Clarke knew that she wasn't off the hook quite yet. All of his joking around was just a cover to allow her enough time to calm down and now he wanted to talk about feelings. There was no getting around it and she knew it, so she sighed and sat down on the desk next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder as she sighed.

"I don't think I really have the right to Wells," she said quietly, all traces of laughter gone.

"You have every right Clarke. You didn't do this to her. Finn did," he said firmly. "No matter what you're thinking, no one deserves to be beaten. You've got to stop blaming yourself and stop letting some asshole dictate your life."

"It's not that simple Wells. Just because I didn't know doesn't mean I wasn't responsible for ruining her happiness." She leaned up enough to look into his face while she spoke. His eyes were serious, but she could see compassion and understanding lingering in their brown depths. "I should have known. I should have listened to you or Indra. I knew in my gut that something was wrong right after that night and I should have stopped it then. Hell, I've never even thought about bringing someone back to the farm, but I did it with Finn without even thinking. That's not like me Wells."

He nodded and wrapped her in a one armed hug. "You wanted to hope again Clarke." He frowned when she rolled her eyes at him and continued. "I know how long it's been and you taking that step and wanting to feel something again, even if it led to disaster, that's a good thing."

"It doesn't feel good," she grumbled.

"I know, but pain is a great motivator. Use it Clarke," he said shaking her shoulders lightly. "Learn from this experience so that it never happens again, but don't let it stain your heart."

"I don't want any more motivation," she moped. "I don't see how getting a black eye is helping me be a better person, Wells."

"Well maybe it will teach you to duck faster," he said and grinned when she punched him in the leg. "This whole situation, as bad as it seems now, has already done some good." Clarke eyed him doubtfully, but he only rolled his eyes and continued. "You've started painting again and that's great! How long has it been since you've just let yourself relax and do something you enjoy?"

"I took a vacation last May," she said irritably. Deep down she knew that what he was saying was true, but she wasn't quite ready to except it. Punishing herself for a few more decades seemed more fitting, but she appreciated him trying anyway.

"I think you should take a break for a little while."

"What?" she gasped incredulous. "I just got back!"

"I know, I know, but listen, you need to put some distance between you and all this stress. I see the dark circles. I know you aren't sleeping well and we both know what happens when you stop sleeping Clarke. You can't do this again and drinking isn't going to numb the pain and keep away the nightmares forever. You've got to get on top of this before it gets on top of you!"

Clarke pulled away from him abruptly, to angry to sit still. She was mad, and hurt, but more than that she was scared. He was right. Of course he was right, Wells was always right and he knew her better than anyone on the planet. Part of her wanted to keep pushing, to let the coping mechanisms help as long as they could just to show him she wasn't weak, but unfortunately she knew that was a lie. No matter how hard she worked or how much she struggled, the pain was always there in the back of her mind, waiting to creep up on her.

Sooner or later, if she let it, she'd stop sleeping entirely just to avoid the nightmares, because there was no escaping them once they started. Over and over again, she'd see her dad lying on the wet pavement, torn to pieces and barely covered by a too small blanket from the back of some cop car. She'd watch in horror as his life slipped away, mixing with the oil on the asphalt and taking with it the last good thing in her life. Someone things, once seen, could never be entirely forgotten, and the night that her dad died was one of them.

The period of time directly following his accident had been a very dark time for her and she'd withdrawn from everyone for awhile, lashing out at her mother and Wells and anyone else that tried to help her. As hard as she tried, she just wasn't able see past that night, couldn't stop seeing the wreckage of the car or the sad look on the officers face when he tried to hold her back.

Abby hadn't even cried when they'd gotten the call. She'd simply called Clarke downstairs and told her calmly what happened. They drove the speed limit all the way there while Clarke's heart did somersaults in her chest. Even though it was ridiculous and the logical part of her brain knew better, she couldn't help but wonder if she'd have gotten to tell her dad goodbye if Abby had driven just a little bit faster, if she hadn't insisted on changing clothes before leaving, or made Clarke go back to her room for a jacket. Her lack of reaction and inability to express emotion was something she'd never forgive her mother for… one of the many things.

"That's not going to happen again Wells," Clarke said still pacing, but forcibly pulling herself out her memories.

"Of course not, because we won't let it, but I'm telling you right now, you need to take a break. A lot of things have happened in the last two weeks and you've got to give yourself time to process it," he said, stopping her mid stride with a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Tell dad that you need to use your vacation time and take a few weeks off. Go out with your new friend, Octavia. Paint every surface of your apartment. Reestablish your friendship with Lincoln," he said stiffly and she almost smiled.

"I'll think about it. And it would be good to get close to Lincoln again," she said slyly and then laughed when he grimaced. "Thanks Wells," she said more seriously and she hoped that he would understand that she was saying thank you for so much more than today. More times than she could count, Wells had saved her one way or another and there wouldn't be enough days in her lifespan to repay him for being the one person she could always count on.

"You bet," he said nonchalantly, dropped a brotherly kiss in her hair and headed for the door.

She waved at him as he stepped out and sat back down heavily at her desk as the door closed behind him. Taking the rest of the day off was pretty much a given considering that any patient she saw today could claim she was distressed or distracted and therefore they weren't receiving proper treatment, a liability that neither she or the prison could afford. Her thoughts were pulling her in a million directions and her face was throbbing horribly, but she needed to at least finish her paperwork for the day and she knew that if she didn't make a report about what happened with Raven, that Thelonious would have a fit.

Shuffling around in her desk, she found the right form and started recounting the incident, using formal terminology and trying to be as brief as possible. Her version of events was awkward and she knew that at least part of it sounded false, but it was the best she could do to keep as many personal bits out of the official report without outright lying. Hopefully it would save Raven's job too. Clarke really didn't want the girl getting fired on top of finding out her fiance was cheating on her.

A knock sounded on her closed door and it was such a change from what people normally did, barging in unannounced whenever they felt like it, that for a moment she forgot to call out for them to enter. The knock sounded again, a little more insistent, and she shook her head to clear it before calling out a quick greeting and shuffling the incident report under a stack of folders to keep it away from prying eyes.

Thelonious himself stepped into her office and grimaced when he got his first look at her face. "Are you alright Clarke?" he asked, slipping into the room and looking at her with concern.

"I'm fine and I don't want to press charges," she said quickly, too nervous to do say it with any finesse.

"Are you sure about that?" he asked quietly, still standing near the door.

"I am." She wasn't sure if he was asking if she was sure she was alright or if she was sure she didn't want to press charges, but the answer was the same regardless.

"Very well," he said smiling. It made her feel a little slimy knowing that he was undoubtedly happier because she wasn't making a scandal in his prison rather than because she was genuinely alright, but it didn't really matter so she didn't comment on it. "I assume you'll make a report and we will take your opinion into consideration when we start the inquiry, but you have to understand that what happens to Raven Reyes is out of my hands."

That wasn't strictly true. Clarke knew very well how much sway Thelonious had here, but she wasn't going to push it. Making him angry wouldn't help Raven and it was really in his best interest to _not_ fire her, so she resolved to just fill out her report and leave the rest of it to someone else. It was the simplest, easiest way to get past this that she could think of and that suited her just fine.

"I was thinking about taking a small leave," she blurted out nervously when she saw him turning for the door. It wasn't going to be the weeks of vacation that Wells wanted, but it was the most time she could allow herself to take without feeling like a failure. "Not too long. Maybe just the weekend and the first part of next week."

"I think that's a smart idea," Thelonious said smiling kindly at her. "I will tell HR on my way back to my office so they can work it out with scheduling. Enjoy your weekend Clarke," he said and left as quietly as he came.

"Alcohol, massive amounts of alcohol," she said under her breath as she turned her head back to the incident report.


	6. Belle of the Ball

Saturday morning dawned bright and early and with it came an obnoxiously loud banging on her door. It matched rhythm with the pounding in her head and Clarke rolled over with a groan, burying her face in the pillow and squeezing her eyes shut against the light. Unfortunately that brought it's own kind of discomfort as the pressure of the fabric against her skin provided her with a painful reminder of yesterday's events.

"I'm coming," she grumbled as the knocking continued and she shuffled into the living room in her bare feet. Whoever the hell was out there better have a damn good reason for waking her up at eight o'clock in the morning on a weekend!

"Good morning ma'am I have a…" the courier on the other side of the door visibly blanched when he got his first good look at her face. She was sure she looked quite a sight with her wild hair and badly bruised eye contrasting sharply against her heart patterned pajamas, and it gave her no small amount of pleasure to know that he was as uncomfortable as she was. "An invitation," he finished lamely, holding out a crisp white envelope with ornate gold lettering on the front.

"An invitation to what?" she asked curiously as she accepted the envelope and ran her finger over it's creamy surface. He didn't look much like your average courier and the fact that he hadn't just shoved the letter under the door or fled as soon as she accepted it told her he probably wasn't your typical bike messenger.

"Why to the Senator's masquerade ball," he said trying to smile brightly and almost making it. The kid probably had a whole speech he was supposed to give, but she'd ruined his entire routine with her shocking appearance. It wasn't exactly like she was sorry she was missing it though, so she didn't encourage him to elaborate further.

A ball, she mused, only just managing to stop her eyes from rolling. It sounded ridiculous and pretentious… so exactly like the Senator, she thought with a smile. It was completely absurd that in the twenty first century she would be receiving a hand delivered invitation to a ball, but knowing what she did about Lincoln's parents, she wasn't surprised at all. The fact that they'd managed to track down her address a week after she got back in touch with Lincoln should probably have bothered her. It was all very big brother, but she didn't even want to think about all of the connections the Senator had around the city or how he used them. It was enough to give someone nightmares or die hard flash backs or something.

"Thanks," she said with a bright smile that probably looked horribly jarring in the macabre mess of her face, but she didn't care. The poor guy on the other side of the door was trying his hardest to smile and respond politely without looking too appalled so she put him out of his misery and said a quick good bye before closing the door in his face. Walking to the kitchen, Clarke slid a finger under the heavy weight paper which parted easily under her hands. Breaking the seal completely, she shook out the invitation and grinned widely at the ostentatious font and not so subtle gold leaf. Everything about it reeked of upper class extravagance, but rather than being appalled, as she probably should, she found herself reminiscing about the millions of invitations her mother had sent out over the years and all the fun she and her dad used to have mocking them.

 _You are invited to attend the 21st annual Lady of Lourdes Masquerade Ball_. The invitation went on to describe the theme and date; this Tuesday at eight, and ended with a brief message about the charity that would benefit from the evenings events. Clarke wasn't familiar with the Lady of Lourdes Charity having not been raised Catholic like Lincoln, which meant that there was a good chance that her mother wouldn't be attending and that only made the prospect more appealing. Sire, it was petty of her to be pleased that her mother wouldn't attend, but they needed a break from one another especially after all the snarky calls she'd received following her suspension.

For the first time in a long time she was excited to be going to a charity event. Not even the shiner on her eye could dampen her mood. It was a masked ball so no one would be able to see her face anyway! Octavia must be ecstatic, she thought excitedly, dropping the invitation on the counter to rush back to her bedroom for her phone.

 _I just got my invitation._ She typed out quickly. _Do you know any good stylists that could help me with my outfit?_ She was smiling from ear to ear as she walked to the refrigerator to pour herself a glass of juice and wait for Octavia's reply. At least 80% of her excitement stemmed from the fact that she was positive Octavia's presence would make the event so much more fun than it would be if she went alone.

 _I might._ Octavia replied almost immediately, followed by a winking face.

 _Oh come on! Are you going to make me beg?_ Clarke replied.

 _Well actually… I may have already had a friend of mine design your costume._

Clarke was surprised, but not at all upset. It would have been nearly impossible to find a good costume this close to the event and she really didn't want to show up to what promised to be a very prestiges affair in some cheap Halloween costume. However, she was a little surprised that Octavia had taken the initiative to have one designed for _her_ before she even knew whether or not Clarke would be able to attend.

 _OMG! No way!_ Clarke quickly text back. _How do you always know exactly what I need?_

 _What can I say, It's a gift!_ Octavia sent a picture of something white and covered in feathers that she thought might be wings, but honestly it was hard to tell because whatever it was, it was huge. _Meet me there and you can try it on._

 _I'd meet you anywhere._ Clarke said and added an excessive amount of hearts.

After getting the address and promising to meet her in an hour, Clarke rushed through a shower and threw on the first things she found in her closet. She was about to run out the door when she remembered that her face looked like a punching bag, so she made a bee line for her vanity and applied as much cover up as she could get away with without looking like a clown. Studying her reflection in the mirror, Clarke decided that she was at least passable. You could still see the bruise, but it looked a lot less severe than it did pre-makeup and she was confident that if she wore her heavy frame glasses, they would distract people enough that some of them wouldn't notice.

The absolute last thing she wanted to do was have people gawking at her like a freak show all day. It was going to be bad enough to explain what happened to Octavia without having to give some lame excuse to a bunch of strangers too. Slipping on her glasses, she grabbed her clutch and scampered out the door. If she was lucky she'd be able to catch a cab near the market because there was no way she'd find parking at the address Octavia had given her.

When her cab pulled up to the curb, Clarke slid her cash to the driver and bounded out of the back seat. Octavia was waiting outside the doors of what looked like an old warehouse, but Clarke knew from past art exhibits that it was actually a studio for the local college.

"Hey!" Octavia yelled as she waved enthusiastically from the steps.

Clarke picked up the pace with a smile and when she was near enough, Octavia tackled her in a hug. "Oof! Take it easy killer," Clarke said patting her playfully on the back.

"Haha. Oh my God Clarke, you are never going to believe how great yours looks. I've been working on it ever since that night at Grounders. I just knew that we'd end up going togeth…" Octavia cut off abruptly as she leaned back and actually saw Clarke's face.

With a little sigh, Clarke flushed and dipped her head, dreading the interrogation. It wasn't likely that she'd be able to pass it off as falling on a door knob or something, but she really didn't want to start the day off so negatively either. It seemed like such a ridiculous thing to have to explain. Who got into fist fights at her age?

"It's nothing don't worry about it," Clarke said trying to usher the smaller girl into the building so they didn't attract a crowd, but Octavia was having none of it. She planted her feet firmly and crossed her arms over her chest, unwilling to budge no matter how much Clarke insisted.

"Yeah because it really looks like nothing!" she exclaimed pulling Clarke's glasses right off her face so she could get a better look. "If that's what it looks like with that much concealer on it must be pretty bad without it," Octavia added, running a finger along the edge of the bruise.

"It really isn't that bad," Clarke said taking her glasses back and jamming them on her face.

"Well are you going to explain what happened or are we just going to stand here and look at each other all day?" Octavia asked while arching one delicate black eyebrow.

"You know how I told you that Finn was with another woman at that restaurant?" If she was being honest, Clarke wasn't even sure how much Octavia would remember about that story because they were both pretty drunk when she told it, but she was relieved when the other girl nodded. "Well her name is apparently Raven and she works at TonDC. Also she's Finn's fiance," Clarke said in a rush as if that would make it sound better.

Octavia whistled through her teeth in an eerily similar way to her older brother and waited patiently for Clarke to continue. After a furtive glance around at the students milling about outside, Clarke took a deep breath and decided that it was easier to just get this out of the way so they could move on.

"Yeah so she works there and apparently she found out that I work there too. So she uh, she um… confronted me about what happened between Finn and I and then Bellamy sort of dragged her out of my office," Clarke finished quickly, glancing at the other girls face to gauge her reaction. Octavia's mouth hung open at least an inch and Clarke was tempted to smile at her, but she wasn't sure that was appropriate after such a crazy story. "I'm taking a short leave and I didn't want to press charges so… I guess I'll just have to hope she got it all out of her system."

"What the hell do you mean you didn't press charges?" Octavia exploded, causing several passersby to stop and stare at them. Clarke could feel a hot flush working it's way painfully up her neck and she swallowed hard, avoiding eye contact.

"I mean I didn't think it would be right to press charges after I kind of wrecked her relationship," Clarke said staring at her feet.

"First, you didn't wreck her relationship. Her dickhead fiance did that," Octavia said as she held up a hand and began ticking off fingers. "Second, you didn't even know she existed, so why are you acting so guilty? And third, I hope you knocked that bitch's teeth out," she said with a scowl.

Clarke laughed despite herself. It was nice to have someone so fiercely protective like Octavia to talk to. There was a big difference between Wells' calm demeanor and Octavia's explosive one, but it was a welcome change all the same.

"I didn't hit her back. I don't fight," Clarke added when Octavia opened her mouth to object. Images of her pushing Bellamy at the boat party popped into her head, but she banished them as quickly as they came. That was an exception and so far outside how Clarke would normally behave that it didn't even really count against what she just said.

"Fine, but if you ask me you should have knocked her lights out," Octavia said with a huff, but to Clarke's immense relief, she headed for the door. "But," Octavia said turning back around abruptly, "if she does it again you better damn sure press charges. No more free passes," she added, glaring until Clarke nodded her head.

"Got it boss," Clarke mumbled under her breath as she followed Octavia into the building and then down several hallways and past empty classrooms full of art paraphernalia.

When they finally stopped in front of a door, Octavia looked over her shoulder and grinned broadly before throwing it open dramatically. Clarke stepped inside and was greeted by one of the most beautiful costumes she'd ever seen. She gasped as she pushed into the room to get a closer look and Octavia chuckled behind her.

"I knew you'd like it," she said proudly as she led Clarke over to the mannequin holding everything up.

The dress was a pure, creamy ivory in some kind of satiny material that gave it a subtle shine. It was floor length with a cowl neck, fitted waist, and flowing skirt, and it was gorgeous, but that wasn't what caught Clarke's eye. Behind the mannequin, held up by something that Clarke couldn't see, were the biggest, most intricately decorated set of angel wings that she'd ever seen. They looked like something off the set of a movie and Clarke was amazed at how realistically designed they were. There must have been thousands of feathers, ranging from tiny downy fluff to ones that were as long as her forearm near the tips, and they arched gracefully above the shoulders of the dress creating a becoming frame for whoever's head would be in between.

"Oh my God, Octavia," Clarke exclaimed as she rushed around the back to get a closer look at the wings. "This is the most gorgeous thing I think I've even seen!" Clarke said in all honesty. She was absolutely blown away by not only the creativity of the costume, but also the thoughtfulness behind it's creation.

"I'm glad you like it," Octavia said with a grin as she ran a finger down the soft feathers. "I designed it myself and then my friend helped me put it together. She's a special effects make up student with quite a bit of sewing skill and I promised her she'd get a ton of good publicity if we wore something she made to this event. It's good exposure for her and a killer outfit for us, so win, win," Octavia said bouncing around happily as Clarke stared in awe at their masterpiece.

"How do the wings attach?" Clarke asked curiously as she drew closer to look at the seam between dress and wings.

"Well, there's this special bra thing that Harper made. It connects to that and then there are some little holes here," she said pointing at a small slit in the dress, "and here, that the wings come out of. When you've got it on you wont be able to see any of that anyway," she added as Clarke bent to examine the tiny row of buttons surrounding the openings in the dress.

"This… what can I say," Clarke said in awe.

"So you like it then? You don't mind that I didn't talk to you about it first? Because I mean, I already knew the theme and I just figured with everything going on that you wouldn't have time to look for something and I didn't want you to have to go in some crappy off the rack mess," she said so quickly that she was stumbling over her words, but Clarke silenced her with a hug.

"Are you kidding? This is probably the best thing that's ever happened to me!" Clarke said honestly and then laughed when Octavia giggled.

"This one just seemed so … I don't know, you," Octavia said pulling away to study the dress. "I've got mine here too, you want to see?"

"Absolutely," Clarke said and then followed Octavia to the opposite side of the room where another mannequin was set up.

For all that her costume was light and whimsical, Octavia's was dark and menacing. There was no gently draped fabric or soft flowing lines, only blunt cuts and shape edges. Everything about it was angular and harsh, not that, that made it any less magnificent! Octavia's was a sleeveless, black, sheath dress, embroidered with subtle flame designs all the way from the hem to the bust, that looked like it would fit her like a glove. Stepping closer, Clarke fingered the black threads and marveled at the intricacies that you might not even notice if you weren't this close to it. Someone had certainly put a lot of detail into their work, you could practically feel the devotion in every stitch!

Above the shoulders were another set of wings, but these weren't huge and feathery like Clarke's. Farm from it actually. They were small, with sharp edges that reminded Clarke of batwings and the tips were done in a deep crimson color that matched a pair of shoes sitting on the floor nearby. When Clarke walked around the back to get a better look at the wings, she saw that there was also a long red tail attached to the rear of the dress. Something inside it was keeping the tail stiff and shaped to look like it was flicking and Clarke couldn't help but admire the effect. She was sure that when Octavia put it on, she would look stunning.

"You are going to look spectacular," Clarke said beaming over at Octavia.

"Do you think so? It isn't too much or like, too aggressive?" she asked, looking honestly worried.

"The theme is angels and demons right?" Octavia nodded. "Well I think you're going to be the hottest demon in the place. We might have to carry a fire extinguisher around with us!" Clarke added with a wink.

"Haha, Clarke. Very funny," Octavia said rolling her eyes, but she was smiling and looked relieved.

"What's Linc going as? Does he have one of these killer costumes too?" Clarke asked curiously as she looked around the room for another masterpiece.

"Nah, the guys get off easy," Octavia said with a frown. "All they've got to do is put on a tux and find a mask and they are good to go."

"Lucky bastards," Clarke said and then laughed when Octavia rolled her eyes.

"Lincoln does have a matching tail and the same color mask as me though, so we'll look like a set," Octavia added, walking over to a table where several masks were laid out in various stages of completion.

Clarke could tell that Octavia was nervous about the party and was trying really hard to make a good impression. She wondered if this was the first time Octavia would be meeting Lincoln's parents. It would make sense really. The elaborate costumes, the questions about it's appropriateness, the uncharacteristic nervousness, they were all indications that Octavia, the boldest, most fearless person that Clarke had probably ever met, was anxious. It was sort of cute and Clarke fought to keep from grinning at her. How someone as talented and beautiful as Octavia could ever feel insecure was beyond her, but she resolved to do her best to reassure Octavia anyway.

"This one is yours," Octavia said, passing her a delicate ivory mask that covered only eyes and cheeks.

Clarke took it gently and studied the sparkling embellishments and delicate bead work with a grin. It would cover the bruised part of her face nicely and it matched the dress to perfection. "It's gorgeous," she said reverently.

"I'm glad you like it," Octavia said with a pleased smile. "This one is mine," she added passing Clarke a mask that was very similar, but done in crimson to match the highlights of her own dress. "And this one, is Lincoln's."

Lincoln's mask was the same color, but instead of covering the eyes and the bridge of the nose, the way the first two masks did, this one was designed to cover one entire half of the face in a diagonal line that left the mouth bare. It was made out of a supple leathery material that looked masculine and quite honestly perfect for him and Clarke waisted no time telling Octavia so.

"What are these others for?" Clarke asked, looking at a few more pieces that were laying around the table.

"Oh, those are just extras or failed attempts," Octavia said with a shrug. "Now come on, you've got to try your dress on so that we can make alterations if we need to!" she added, taking the masks out of Clarke's hands and pushing her towards her costume. "There's a little changing area over there," Octavia said pointing to a curtained off section of the room.

"Okay, but how do I get this thing on?" Clarke asked, eyeing the dress apprehensively. It would be just her luck that she'd trip and fall over her two left feet and ruin all of Octavia's hard work. She'd probably end up with another black eye or a broken nose!

"It's simple," Octavia reassured her with a smile. "The wings come off so all you have to do is put on the bra and the dress and then come back out and I'll attach the rest!"

Nodding, Clarke waited while Octavia unhooked the massive wings and, too her surprise, lifted them away with ease. They must be a lot lighter than they looked! Quickly removing the dress from the mannequin, Clarke scurried over to the changing area and slipped into it. Not surprisingly, the dress fit absolutely perfect. Octavia really was a genius, it was kind of scary in a perfect sort of way.

"Come out," Octavia said impatiently. "I want to see what it looks like!"

"Okay, okay I'm coming," Clarke grumbled good-naturedly as she stepped around the curtain. "Well, how is it?" she asked when Octavia didn't immediately say anything.

"It's beautiful!" she answered happily, but continued to study it with a critical eye. "Let's put the wings on and see if that makes it fit any different," Octavia said coming towards her with the wings.

After a few quick snaps, the wings were on and then Octavia's nimble fingers did up the tiny buttons. When she lifted her hands away, Clarke gasped at the feel of the wings. They were light as a feather, no pun intended, and she swirled around trying to get a better look at them. They moved with her like they were part of her body, floating and fluttering in the air currents she'd stirred up with her spin, and Clarke couldn't help but think they looked exactly like what she imagined real angel wings would look like if they existed.

"How are they so light?" Clarke asked amazed.

"Oh that's some secret of Harpers. I think it's some kind of metal alloy that she uses to make the frame. It's super light, but really strong. You shouldn't have to worry about it breaking or anything as long as you're careful when you sit down. I think the heaviest part is the actual feathers, she said with a laugh. "There's a mirror over there," she said pointing to a standing mirror a few feet away, "if you want to get a look at the whole thing, but I think it's perfect."

Clarke scrambled over to the mirror, relishing the way the wings and the dress fluttered around her as she moved and then spent a long time just staring at her reflection. The tops of the wings arched gracefully above her shoulders, going in a little in the middle and then curving gracefully back out towards the ends, which just barely brushed the floor. Her dress was beautiful in it's own right even without the wings, Clarke decided as she turned to the side to study her profile. It draped around her neck, framing her cleavage becomingly without being a bit immodest and then fell in graceful folds all the way to the floor.

"I've got shoes to go with it too. It will keep everything away from the ground, but the heels aren't so big that you won't be able to walk in them," Octavia said, smiling when Clarke glanced at the pair of heels that Octavia had sitting by her own costume.

They were at least four inch spikes and there was no way that Clarke could see herself being able to walk in them. It would be super embarrassing for her to face plant all dressed up like the most graceful creature in existence, but she just knew that if anyone could manage it, it would be her. And forget dancing! There would be no dancing in those shoes!

"Okay, it's amazing. You're a genius and I love you, but now I want to see yours!" Clarke said. "Maybe you should help me out of this thing though so that I don't ruin it with my clumsiness," Clarke said with a laugh.

Once the wings were detached, Clarke put her normal clothes back on and then helped Octavia with her own costume. When Octavia came out of the changing area, Clarke's jaw literally dropped. The dress was snug in all the right places and cut just short enough to be racy without looking slutty. The scary heels looked perfect with the matching tail and Octavia sauntered over to her with ease. Clarke would have been lying if she said she wasn't a little bit jealous of how effortless Octavia made walking in them look.

"Wow," she said and smiled as Octavia burst out laughing.

"Help me get the wings on?" she asked, spinning so that Clarke could help her attach them. The catches were almost exactly the same as her own, and it was incredibly simple to figure out. Perhaps it was another one of this Harper girls secret design tricks?

With a little spin, Octavia sent her wings flapping and Clarke clapped excitedly. "It's so good, Octavia, you are seriously a genius! I can not say that enough right now!"

"Well the hands on stuff was all Harper," Octavia explained humbly, as she went to the mirror and studied her outfit from different angels. "I just did the concept art," she added with a smile.

"They are spectacular!" Clarke said honestly.

"Harper said she'd help with our makeup too if we wanted, so I figured maybe we could just meet here and leave together?" she asked turning back around so that Clarke could detach the wings. "We won't be able to put these on till we get there and we'll both need some help so it makes sense," she trailed off, waiting for Clarke's response.

"Sounds perfect! I'm so excited," Clarke beamed at her.

"Me too! I seriously couldn't wait till you got your invitation. I thought I was going to die keeping it a secret, but I'm glad I did. You're face was totally worth it," she added with a smirk.

"Yeah, yeah, you're amazing. Get over yourself," Clarke joked as she rolled her eyes.

"Let's get out of here and go grab lunch or something," Octavia suggested.

"Sure. I'll call a cab while you change," Clarke said with a smile and then wondered out of the building in search of better reception.

They spent the rest of the day eating, chatting and eventually drinking and by the time Clarke made it back to the loft, she'd very nearly forgotten how miserable it was going to be to return to work.

The weekend flew by and Clarke spent most of Monday alternately freaking out about the masquerade and worrying about her return to TonDC. Wells had called a few times to check up on her, and she was happy when she found out that Raven hadn't lost her job, but the idea of meeting her again face to face, or in her case face to fist, really wasn't an appealing one. In fact, she tried her hardest not to think about it at all.

No matter if she wanted to press charges or not, she was afraid that if Finn's fiance lost her temper again, nothing would stop Thelonious from firing her. It was really a small miracle that he hadn't already. Wells mentioned something about her being a phenomenal engineer and Clarke assumed that meant that the prison couldn't really afford to replace her, but she was glad for it all the same. The last thing she wanted was a guilty conscience over Raven losing her job on top of how bad she felt for ruining her relationship with Finn!

At a quarter to six Tuesday evening, Clarke slipped into a cab and headed for the studio where she was meeting Octavia and Lincoln. The place was deserted with the exception of a few kids milling around outside and Clarke thanked the driver before heading in. She found her way easily to the room where they'd be changing and knocked softly before pushing the door open.

Octavia was already dressed and a girl about her height with intricately braided blond hair was leaning over her, applying makeup. She stopped when Clarke stepped into the room and Octavia jumped up to introduce them.

"Clarke this is Harper, Harper, Clarke," she said standing between the two of them.

"Nice to meet you," Harper said extending her hand.

"The pleasure's all mine. You are a spectacular artist," Clarke said honestly, then smiled when the girl flushed and nodded her thanks.

"You can go ahead and get in your dress, Clarke. We are almost done," Octavia added, resuming her position on the stool and tilting her face to Harpers brush.

Without further comment, Clarke left to do what she was told. The dress was just as perfect as the first time she tried it on, but this time she also slipped on a pair of silvery wedge sandals that felt like marshmallows and looked like Heaven. They were quite possibly the most comfortable shoes that Clarke had ever worn and she took a moment to admire them before stepping around the curtain to wait her turn with Harper's clever brushes.

After lots of bustling around and last minute adjustments, Clarke was through with her makeup and ready for Octavia to start doing her hair. Surprisingly, the style Octavia decided on was relatively uncomplicated. Just a quick up-do that left her neck exposed and left several artfully arranged tendrils falling down. It was simple and elegant, and absolutely perfect.

Octavia was wearing her own hair loose and straight, but she had a fancy headpiece that looked sort of like a tiara with tiny little devil's horns on either side. Everything about her costume was phenomenal and more than once, Clarke found herself just studying it in appreciation. From one artist to another, she had to admire these two girl's skills. Everything about it appealed to Clarke's aesthetic eye.

"Lincoln is going to be here in a minute and then Harper's going to glue on our masks and we'll be good to go," Octavia said glancing at the clock above the exit sign.

"What do you mean glue," Clarke questioned apprehensively. She hadn't stopped to wonder how they were going to hold the masks on with no straps and now she felt a little bit like an idiot for not having noticed it sooner.

"Don't worry, it's just a little bit of spirit gum. I'll give you the remover before you leave," Harper said holding up a tiny glass bottle with a strange looking yellowing liquid inside. "And I'll be careful not to apply it around your bruise. The mask is big enough that I think I can avoid it entirely," she said with a smile.

Being reminded of it brought a flush to her cheeks and Clarke reached to probe a tender spot directly below her eye with tentative fingers. Really, it wasn't so bad anymore, but she was glad that the bruise had stared to fade otherwise the mask application might have been pretty painful, Clarke thought with a grimace. She'd been treating her eye every day with a bit of topical cream and the once nasty bruise had faded to a gross looking greenish yellow around the edges, but it was better than what it had been at first, so she wasn't going to complain. Besides, the shimmery makeup that Harper had applied around her eyes and dusted lightly along her shoulders and clavicle did a pretty good job of hiding it all on its own.

In addition to emphasizing her bone structure, the subtle make up provided Clarke with enough cover that she wouldn't have to spend the night explaining anything to anyone even if they did manage to spot what was left of the bruise beneath her mask. This was all very good as she'd yet to tell Lincoln what happened at the prison. With as much animosity as he already felt towards Bellamy, she didn't think it would be a good idea to add more fuel to the fire.

He would surely find a way to twist everything around and make Bellamy's heated outburst and less than snappy response time into a big ordeal. Clarke didn't blame Bellamy for anything that happened and neither should Lincoln. In fact, she sort of admired Bellamy's solidarity. Sticking up for your friends was admirable, even if they were sort of crazed she monsters that went around pummeling coworkers and screaming like banshees.

Either way, bringing it up wouldn't help her and would very likely cause problems between the Blake's and Lincoln, so Clarke felt that it was best just not to ever mention it. No one knew and everyone won. She couldn't think of a better ending to a bad situation.

Clarke was still studying the bottle of glue intently when Lincoln walked into the room. He looked great, as per usual, in his black on black tux and Clarke let out an appreciative whistle that left him grinning from ear to ear while Harper rolled her eyes and laughed. His pocket square matched Octavia's crimson accents and Clarke noted the thunderstruck look on his face, upon seeing Octavia, with a broad grin. He looked like a little boy in love and somewhere in the background Harper was making gagging noises.

"You look amazing, babe," he said sweeping Octavia into his arms and staring down at her adoringly.

"Thanks," she said and giggled when he leaned in for a kiss.

"You look good too Clarke," Lincoln said as an afterthought, not even bothering to break eye contact with Octavia and Clarke snorted at the same time Harper did. When their eyes met, both burst into laughter, but it still wasn't enough to draw Lincoln's attention away from the girl in his arms.

"Let's get this show on the road people," Harper said with an exaggerated sigh. "If we don't get this stuff going now, you're going to be late to your own party!"

"Alright, alright," Octavia groaned, peppering a few more light kisses on Lincoln's lips before leading him over to the stool so they could begin.

Clarke watched in fascination as Harper applied just the tiniest bit of glue around the edges of the mask and then another bit to Lincoln's face. He wrinkled up his nose at the smell, but stayed still until it was finished. The transformation was startling. Now, instead of a handsome guy in a suit, Lincoln was a scary half creature from another world. The mask shaped to his face and moved naturally when he did. In addition to the crimson coloring, the mask was molded with scary eyebrows and exaggerated cheekbones so that you were fully aware that he was representing a demon.

"Looking good, Linc," Clarke said with a smile as he left the stool and Octavia took his place.

"It feels funny," he muttered, but Octavia overheard him and scowled, so he shut up pretty quick.

She hadn't noticed before, but Octavia's mask was very similar to Lincoln's despite the different material and shape once it was on. It really made the whole costume complete. Clarke smiled like a fool and was practically bouncing on her feet while she waited for Harper to finish.

When it was her turn, Clarke plopped onto the stool and braced herself for the smell. It wasn't really so bad, and true to her word, Harper kept it off her bruise as she gently pushed the mask into place. In no time at all, everything was dry and Clarke got her first real glimpse at the completed look.

"Beautiful," Harper said quietly touching up some of the makeup, and Clarke could only nod in agreement. They'd really outdone themselves and she couldn't thank them enough although she certainly tried.

As they were leaving, Clarke asked Harper for her phone number so that she could work out payment arrangements. They exchanged information and Clarke promised to tell everyone who'd listen exactly where she got her costume which made Harper glow with pride.

"Come on slow poke," Octavia called from the limo. "It's time to go!"

The party was in full swing by the time they arrived and Octavia was nearly bursting with excitement as Lincoln directed their driver into the closed parking garage where they could get out discreetly and not have to go through the public entrance. Perks of being with the Senator's son, Clarke thought with a smile as she and Octavia helped each other into their wings.

Once everyone was ready, Lincoln led them into his childhood home with all the grace and ease of someone who was accustomed to wealth while Octavia stared around in awe. Clarke of course had been there before, but she remembered all too well how she'd felt the first time she came to the Senator's mansion. A bit nervous, a bit overwhelmed, mostly just terrified. Hopefully Lincoln wouldn't be as oblivious as he had been back then.

"We'll just slip in from the side, unless you guys want to make a grand entrance or something?" Lincoln asked, looking down at Octavia with a smile.

"No, that's fine," she said smoothing down her dress nervously.

"You look beautiful," he whispered in her ear as he pulled her into the room and Clarke smiled at their obvious affection.

The noise in the ballroom wasn't quite near deafening, but it came pretty close and Clarke started to fidget as she took in the hundreds of people milling about. Some were talking and laughing in small groups off to the sides, others were waltzing around the dance floor and still others were stationed around the open bar. She'd give them one thing, Lincoln's parents certainly knew how to entertain.

Speak of the devil (no pun intended), Clarke thought as she watched Lincoln wave to his mother who was talking in a small group of similarly aged woman. Oddly, Clarke noted that his mother had chosen to represent the darker half while his father had decided to bat for JC. She would have assumed they would be dressed alike, or at least the other way around and she found herself smiling at the idea of the Senator flouncing around in her own dress and angel wings.

Lincoln looked back at her questioningly, but Clarke only shooed the two lovebirds away, so Lincoln pulled Octavia over to introduce her to his family leaving Clarke to fend for herself. It wasn't like she needed the introductions, they'd only seen her about a hundred times, and she was sure to run into his parents sooner or later anyway, so she just waved from the periphery and headed for the bar.

The crowd and constant noise were starting to become oppressive, so after getting a flute of champaign, Clarke turned and headed outside. The warm summer air held just a hint of rain, but was fragrant with fresh cut flowers that couldn't be ignored. Clarke found herself wandering around admiring the twinkling fairy lights that decorated everything from pathways to tree branches and just enjoying the breeze. The garden's looked mysterious and ethereal, totally perfect for the theme and called to her like no ballroom every could.

So many people were in attendance, dressed in extravagant costumes and designer clothes, but Clarke couldn't help but notice that everywhere she went, stares and whispers followed her. It wasn't until she'd taken refuge in one of the many gazebos dotting the formal gardens that any of the other guests were brave enough to approach however. Clarke watched the first couple's arrival with a shy smile and thought briefly about walking away before they got there, but that would be rude and she'd promised Harper to laud her designs as often as she could, so she planted her feet and waited for them to get close enough before calling out a greeting.

"You're outfit is amazing," a girl with a simple red dress and devil's horns said beaming at Clarke.

"Thank you," Clarke said with a grin. "Would you like to touch it?" she asked when she saw the girls hand hovering in the air towards her.

"Only if it's okay," she said looking in awe at the wings.

Clarke turned around obligingly and to her surprise she was soon surrounded by a small crowd of curious onlookers. All of which took their turn feeling the soft feathers gently and commenting on how realistic they looked. She must have answered the question about whether or not they were heavy a hundred times before she was able to make her escape, but as she was heading back inside to get a fresh glass, she couldn't help but smile.

There were hundreds of wealthy socialites here and now every one of them would be seeking Octavia and Harper's services. It made Clarke feel proud being able to tell people she was friends with the girl who'd designed her costume and to a one, they oohed and aahed like it was the most amazing thing in the world. The girls would be flooded with requests for custom designs by next weekend, she was sure of it!

Once back inside, Clarke made for the bar, looking around for Octavia and Lincoln. What she saw made her smile. Not only had Octavia managed to amass her own little crowd, she'd apparently managed to win over Lincoln's parents as well. They were standing beside the pair, beaming from their son to their guests and then to Octavia at his side like a pair of fools and it warmed Clarke's heart just a little to see it.

"That's quite a get up," someone said from behind her and Clarke almost sighed as she started to turn around to start her speech about Octavia and Harper again, but instead, when she caught sight of the man who spoke, she gasped in surprise.

Lincoln's mask was impressive, but this one took it to a whole other level. He wore almost a complete face mask, only leaving a bit cut out around the mouth, probably for practical purposes, and it was molded into a grotesquely scary demon's face. The transformation from man to myth was startling and impressive all at the same time.

He was tall, with broad shoulders and dark hair slicked back away from his forehead with some kind of product that Clarke couldn't identify off the top of her head. The suit he was wearing was very similar to Lincoln's, in fact it was almost identical and it made Clarke pause as she took in the whole effect, wondering if he was one of Octavia's friends too. She couldn't remember seeing this particular mask on Harper's work table, but the more she looked at it the more she could see the girl's style in it's molding.

"Back at you," Clarke replied, pulling her eyes away from his broad chest to stare into his deep brown eyes.

He smiled charmingly and she felt a little flutter in the pit of her stomach. It had been a long time since someone had given her butterflies on first impression, but it wasn't unpleasant by any means. He had a nice smile, wide and genuine with perfectly white teeth and mischief in his eyes. The over all impression was a charismatic gentleman with a wicked streak that you wouldn't mind getting familiar with, but that made her sound like an idiot even inside her own head, so she didn't comment on it.

"I know a good designer," he said nonchalantly and just as she was starting to ask details of where he got his costume, he interrupted her to ask her if she wanted to dance.

Customarily, Clarke avoided the dance floor of any party like the plague. No matter how many lessons she'd taken as a child both at her mother and Lincoln's insistence, she always felt awkward on someone's arm. Her feet didn't move smoothly, her arms always seemed to be in the way, and she was sure she looked ridiculously off rhythm at all times. Only her father had ever made her feel secure enough to risk formal dancing in public like this and she hadn't done it since he passed away.

"Um… I don't think so right now," she said looking anywhere but his face and trying to force any memories that might lead to watery eyes as far down inside her as she could. No way was she going to cry in public or humiliate herself in front of this stranger by gushing about her life story.

Sensing her hesitation and obviously misinterpreting it, he moved closer to her body, almost touching, and smiled wickedly down at her. "Scared?," he asked in a low growl that sent shivers down Clarke's spine.

"Not scared," Clarke huffed. "Just not interested," she added and then took her leave, full glass in hand. She thought she heard him chuckle behind her as she fled, and something about it tugged at her memory, but she couldn't put her finger on what was familiar about it. Not wanting to dwell on him, or the fluttering in her abdomen, she quickly made her way over to Octavia, seamlessly integrating herself into the crowd near Lincoln's parents so she could preform the obligatory compliments on the party and receive her air kisses and awkward handshake from his mother and father respectively.

"You look beautiful, dear," Lincoln's mother said into her ear so that her soft voice could be heard over the murmur of the crowd. "And we quite like your fiery friend," she added with a wink at Octavia who was beaming ecstatically at everyone.

"I think Linc does too," Clarke said with a laugh, drawing the eyes of the couple. Lincoln raised an eyebrow, but smiled and Octavia looked nervously between Clarke and his mother, but relaxed when Clarke gave her a grin.

"I quite agree," Lincoln's dad said, smiling proudly at his only son. It was a rare moment, one where there wasn't even a hint of antagonism or disapproval in his father's eyes and Clarke wished that Lincoln would turn back to them so he could see it too.

So often their relationship was strained and while Clarke understood Lincoln's frustrations with his father, she also knew that more than anything, he sought his approval. The Senator wasn't always the warmest, he was nothing like Clarke's own father, but she knew, especially in that moment while she watched him beaming at his son, that he truly loved him. Anyone with a eyes could see it, anyone that is, except for Lincoln.

Sighing, Clarke dismissed herself from the group with one final wave and walked back to the periphery of the crowd. She was enjoying watching Octavia bask in the glow of Lincoln's love and the appreciation of his parent's guests, but mingling with that many people for too long put Clarke's nerves on edge, so she resolved to catch up with the pair later, when things started to wind down a little. Heading through a side door, and out onto a patio just off the breakfast room, she let out a sigh of relief.

Despite still being decorated like the rest of the grounds, this was a little used part of the house and no one was present to interrupt Clarke's peace. She sipped at her glass and watched the stars come out, listening to the faint hints of classical music drifting out to her from the open door. Totally relaxed in the softly lit darkness, she tipped her head back, closed her eyes and breathed in the warm night air as the moonlight touched her face.

"Thinking about flying back up to Heaven?" a deep voice said quietly to her left.

She jumped, startled at the interruption and almost spilled her champaign all over herself. With a huff, she turned and glared at the trespasser. To her surprise, it was the same man from the bar, looking eerily menacing in his mask and the moonlight, but then he smiled, and any traces of unease fled. That smile was dangerous, disarming and damn near perfect and it sort of made her want to say something to take it off his face. No man should have a smile that effective, not even one who was tall dark and handsome like this one. It really wasn't fair to all of the other men at the party that he was blessed with a sexy voice, like honey poured over gravel, a very attractive physique, _and_ a gorgeous smile!

"If I'm flying back up to Heaven where does that leave you?" she asked snarkily, put off by his easy charm which reminded her painfully of Finn. To her surprise, rather than be offended like she'd sort of hoped, he simply laughed. Not a little thing either. It was a full throated belly laugh that vibrated the air between them and drug a smile from her lips.

"I'm sure I'll still be around, being naughty and having fun," he said and smiled cheekily at her eye roll. "You've got to admit, we sinners do have a lot more laughs."

"I wouldn't know," she said haughtily and fluttered her wings at him.

He laughed again and stepped closer to her, reaching out to brush one long, tan finger down the length of a feather. Despite being soft and on her fake wing, she felt his touch like he'd caressed her bare skin and the sensation shuddered down her spine. Blaming it on the champaign, Clarke turned away, knocking his hand back with the wings as she moved.

Added bonus, she thought, shifting her shoulders and feeling the wings move with her. They were like a shield against creepers and dangerously attractive guests alike! Smiling, she thought about what Octavia's reaction would be when she mentioned this unlikely benefit of the costume to her. Either Octavia would laugh uproariously and use it as advertisement or she'd chastise Clarke for blowing off hot strangers. Probably the latter.

"So, do angels have names?" he asked, following her as she drifted away from him and the open door.

When Clarke turned to look at him over her shoulder, she saw that he was only a few paces behind. His dark head was tilted back as he stared up at the stars and she couldn't help but admire his profile. Large bronze hands were held behind his back thrusting his chest forward, and he looked tall and straight the way only people with excellent posture could.

Quickly turning away so that he wouldn't catch her staring, she debated on whether or not to tell him her name. It wasn't like it was a secret or anything, but she didn't really want to get involved with anyone again so soon after Finn and giving him her real name might lead to an awkward conversation later. If he were to say, ask Lincoln's parents about a guest named Clarke, they might take it upon themselves, or at least his mother might, to play a bit of matchmaker. The prospect was mortifying.

"You know a lot of Christians don't believe that there are female angels," Clarke said, carefully evading his probing eyes and trying to put off answering his question.

"Then lifted I up mine eyes, and looked, and behold, there came out two women, and the wind was in their wings; for they had wings like the wings of a stork, and they lifted up the ephah between the earth and the heavens," he quoted elegantly.

"Is that from the bible?" she asked in surprise, turning around to stare at him curiously.

"Zecharia 5:9," he answered with a small nod.

"Strange that a demon would be quoting the bible to me," she said with a reluctant grin. Most people, especially the ones that attended these sort of events, were about as far away from religion as one could possibly get. Sure, some donated to religious charities. Others, like the Senator and his wife, even went to church regularly, but when it came right down to it, Clarke wasn't sure that was enough to make you a real Christian.

Religion had always been a struggle for her, torn as she was between her father's wholesome, quiet sort of faith and her mother's strict adherence to science. If she thought about it, she found herself resting comfortably in the middle. Somewhere between wanting to believe in something and knowing too much not to have doubts. Either way, it was strange to find someone that could quote obscure, strangely specific bible verses at the drop of a hat.

"Strange that an angel would need the reminder," he admonished softly, taking a few small steps closer. His liquid brown eyes looked black in the darkness and she watched as they went from her eyes down to her lips and stayed there just a moment longer than was polite.

Clarke's heart began to pound in her chest as she watched him watching her. Glancing between his eyes and the darkness beyond the patio, she let out a nervous breath and tried for a laugh. "Touche" she said and started to turn away, but she felt his fingers on her arm, soft, yet still demanding attention. She paused and looked back at him curiously, not bothering to pull her arm away.

"How about that dance now?" he asked, his voice like black silk caressing her skin. "There's no one out here to see you," he added when she hesitated again.

"There's also no music Romeo," she said with a small smile.

"Sure there is. Can't you hear it," he asked, tilting his head to the side and urging her to listen.

If she strained her ears and stopped making any sound or movement, she could just make out the last strains of a song she didn't recognize drifting out to them from the open door. More than the music though, she could hear cicadas in the trees and the breeze rustling through the sweet night air. In a way, that was better music than anything the band inside could conjure up and it made her smile sadly as she thought of all the nights just like this one that she'd sat outside with her father and listened to the music of the forest around the ranch. Clarke missed those nights.

"You look sad. What are you thinking about," he asked and again stepped closer. He was so close now that Clarke could feel the warmth off his chest and it was impossible to look anywhere except up into his eyes. He loomed over her, larger and more impressive than she thought any man had any right to be, but she didn't feel intimidated. Strangely, she felt comforted, like as long as he was standing over her, he'd help her fight off anything that came, even if it came from her own mind.

"I was just thinking that I used to love nights like this when I was little. I'd sit out on the porch with my dad and listen to the crickets and the cicadas and watch for lightening bugs until I fell asleep." A soft smile graced her lips as she remembered and his face mimicked hers. "He'd always carry me back inside and I'd wake up in my bed not knowing how I got there. Every single time I asked he'd tell me that it must have been the crickets," she said and then stopped, shocked at her own honesty. Normally, she didn't talk very much about memories of her father, at least not with anyone other than Wells and Indra, but they were different. They'd known him too.

"Sounds like a great guy," he said and smiled, but his eyes still looked serious, like he knew that this happy story didn't have a happy ending.

"He was," she said simply, crossing her arms over her chest to ward off a sudden chill. It wasn't the breeze in the balmy night air giving her the shivers, it was the ghost of her father's memory, creeping out of her heart and swirling around them both.

Remembering him was sometimes just as hard as not remembering. For awhile after he was gone, she'd lived in fear that one day she would forget the sound of his voice or the exact way that his eyes sparkled when he laughed. Back then she'd forced herself to think about it every day just so she wouldn't forget, but over time things had dimmed as those sort of things are wont to do.

Memories of things like how his hand felt in hers or the way his clothes always smelled like outside and sunshine faded with each passing year. She couldn't remember exactly what the crinkles by his eyes looked like, or the texture of the skin on his cheek when she pressed a goodbye kiss there. Time was slowly erasing him, leaving her with vague impressions and more often than not now, she wondered if the things she remembered were really real, or just her mind filling in the blanks.

"Hey," he said and she felt his fingers lift her chin. "Come back to me."

The command was so intimate that she flushed. Her heart did a somersault in her chest and she was tempted to jerk her face away, but something stopped her. Maybe it was the understanding in his eyes, or the way his fingers felt on her skin, she didn't know, but something about it felt okay, more right than when most people touched her.

Dropping his hand to her wrist, he pulled her forward gently and for one insane moment, she thought he was going to try to kiss her, but then he was walking backwards, drawing her with him and back onto the patio. Once there, he captured her hands, bringing them both up to his shoulders while his own hand found her waist and he began to move her in time with the soft piano music drifting through the night air.

Their dance wasn't anything elaborate, in fact it was little more than two people turning in circles and swaying, but after awhile she found herself relaxing and rather than try to meet the intensity of his eyes, she brought her head to rest on his chest. If she focused, she could hear his heartbeat through the soft fabric of his suit and she let it's steady rhythm drive away all of the dark memories threatening to cloud her mind. He pulled her close, one big hand resting softly against the nape of her neck while the other guided her waist, careful not to ruffle her wings, and strangely, she let him.

For once she didn't care that he was a total stranger. She forgot how little she liked dancing or how uncomfortable overly familiar touches made her. It was just her face against his chest, his hand toying with loose strands of her hair, and the soft piano music tickling her ears. That stayed that way for awhile, longer than she could guess, glued together and oblivious to the world around them as her thoughts skimmed over millions of memories, but at some point the music ended and she could feel his nose in her hair, gently nudging her face away from his chest.

As soon as she lifted her head and their eyes met, he leaned down and brushed his lips softly against hers. For a moment she was startled, freezing on the spot like a deer in headlights, but then she felt his strong fingers massaging the base of her skull and she relaxed again. There was nothing scary here. This man wasn't Finn, he didn't want to step into her life or meet her family, chances were they'd never see each other again. All he wanted was a dance and a kiss and she couldn't see any reason why she shouldn't give it to him. Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but she doubted it. It was just him and the way he made her feel, everything about him was soft and familiar, but still dark and exciting.

The moment the tension drained from her shoulders, his lips were back on hers, hot and demanding this time, no longer willing to be soft. She gasped, but he swallowed it into their kiss, molding his mouth over hers and slipping his fingers into her hair to hold her in place.

His lips were soft, his breath warm and sweet against her face as she fought to keep up with the demands of his kiss. Vying for control, she swept her tongue into his mouth boldly, daring him to object, but of course he didn't. Though he did make a sound, half growl and half sigh, that vibrated into her body, sparking every erogenous zone from lips to hips on it's way down. Her entire frame shuddered in his arms and she felt him smile. The hand still on her hip pulled her torso fully against his and she could feel his excitement through the thin material of her dress. Emboldened, she slid her fingers into his hair, messing up his styled perfection as she rose on her tip toes to pull him closer.

Their breath mingled as their tongues fought for dominance and Clarke felt herself melting. Never once in her life had someone kissed her so heatedly that she felt like a puddle afterward, but he did. Fingers like steel but soft as a feather caressed her cheek and she very nearly moaned, only just barely catching herself before her body betrayed her. He was pulling her closer and closer, pressed so firmly against her that she wasn't sure they were even separate people anymore, but she didn't mind. Sinking into him would be the easiest choice she'd ever made.

Clarke was so lost in the feel of his body that she didn't even notice anyone come out the door behind them. Neither of them heard the first time someone cleared their throat, but both of them heard Octavia's giggle. Breaking apart, Clarke flushed a deep crimson, still breathing hard and trying desperately to piece her self control back together.

"So… I guess we don't need to rescue you from stuffy old men and boring conversations the way Lincoln said huh?" Octavia asked, smiling broadly at Clarke and then outright laughing when she saw her cheeks darken.

The man beside her was as still as a statue, not moving or speaking and staying half turned away from their visitors, but she could see that he too was breathing hard and looked embarrassed. Clarke felt a little bad for him. He probably hadn't imagined being interrupted and teased was part of the deal when he ventured outside after her. A part of her was tempted to reach for his hand, but before she could, he was folding them behind his back the same way he had earlier as he gazed at the stars and talked to her about angels. Maybe it was a nervous habit or maybe he just didn't want to hold her hand. Frowning a little, she turned back to Octavia.

"I'm not a damsel in distress," she said to the pair of them and even managed to roll her eyes, which made Octavia laugh again, but when she looked at Lincoln he wasn't smiling. In fact he looked a little angry and she followed his gaze to the man at her side and back again.

"Who's your… friend, Clarke?" he asked with just the barest hint of heat in his voice. It was so odd to see Lincoln being anything less than courteous to anyone but especially a guest that for a moment, she was rendered speechless.

"I think perhaps we should call him Lucifer," Octavia said, trying and failing to suppress a giggle while she and Lincoln looked at her curiously. "You know, because he seems to be such a … devilishly good kisser," she said and absolutely guffawed. Lincoln looked stern and Clarke felt like her face was actually on fire, but the man in question looked by far the most uncomfortable.

He was shifting from foot to foot and alternately clasping and unclasping his hands. He'd yet to face them and Clarke could almost feel the waves of tension rolling off his body, but for some reason, the normally quite perceptive Octavia didn't detect a thing.

It was odd for Clarke to realize that she'd just been making out with a some guy who's name she didn't actually know, but then she decided to just go with it. Octavia would only embarrass her more if she allowed it. Clearly brazening her way out of this was her only recourse now. It's not like their kiss meant anything anyway. He would leave and so would she and they'd both have at least one pleasant memory to take away from the party. No harm no foul.

"Oh go away would you," Clarke said glaring at Octavia, which only made her giggle harder. Clarke's hard stare did nothing to lessen the moisture in Octavia's eyes, which she was trying to dab away without ruining her makeup. All the while she choked on laughter and kept glancing from Clarke to Lincoln. For a moment, Clarke thought that Lincoln's stern expression would snap her out of it, but every time she looked at Clarke she busted up all over again.

"Take her back inside Lincoln," Clarke said with an exasperated sigh, but she was smiling a little too.

"You should come back inside also," Lincoln said, already turning Octavia back toward the door, but stopping and looking back at her seriously before leaving.

"Okay dad. I'll be in, in a minute," Clarke said and rolled her eyes at him. He continued to look serious, not even a hint of a smile and it wiped out Clarke's own smirk. Lincoln was serious, like really serious. It made her stop and study her companion again. What was it that Lincoln saw that made him so insistent that she shouldn't be out here with him? "I'll be right in," she said again, but more seriously this time. Lincoln met her eyes and nodded, satisfied that this time she was telling the truth. He turned and disappeared with Octavia back into his parents house.

"So," Clarke said cautiously. "That was super weird," she added and tried for a smile, but Mr. Mysterious was having none of it. His face was closed off and hard. Shadows played off the planes of his mask and exaggerating it grotesquely. If she squinted her eyes, he might actually look like a demon come to life in front of her.

"Yeah," he murmured, looking and sounding extremely awkward. Gone was the seductive finesse and the charming wit. In it's place was nervous twitching and shifting eyes. Everything about him screamed that he wanted to run, but for some reason he was still standing there.

"It's okay you know," Clarke said staring at him curiously. "I don't expect you to stick and around and marry me," she joked, trying to lighten the mood. It had been rather nice talking to him and she didn't even want to put a word to how amazing his kiss had been, but she held him under no obligation for more and felt the need to make that clear.

"I should probably head back inside before your friend comes back out and decides to ask me to leave you alone in a much more threatening way," he said and half smiled at her.

"Okay," she said amiably. If he wanted to go back inside that was fine with her, she was going to finish the drink she'd left on the patio table, find Lincoln and Octavia and probably head home for the night. Tomorrow was her first day back to work and she wasn't really looking forward to it.

"Goodnight," he murmured, brushing his lips against her forehead before walking away.

"Wait," she called out as he was about to slip through the door. He paused, turning back to stare at her and she flushed again. "I never got your name," she said shyly.

"Sure you did," he quipped and a hint wickedness peaked out around his mask. "I prefer the Father of All Darkness, but you could call me Lucifer if you want," he added and then winked.

Clarke burst out laughing before she could stop herself and he took that as his cue to leave, disappearing into the lighted room beyond as he headed back to the party. Clarke's fingers felt warm against the cool surface of her glass as she brought it to her lips and took a large swallow, trying to banish thoughts of his kiss from her mind, but not quite managing to erase his smile.

When the glass was empty, she let out a large sigh and walked back inside. Judging by the roar from within, the party was still in full swing, so she edged her way into the periphery, searching out and finding Lincoln and Octavia. They were by the bar with his parents, who were talking animatedly with a couple dressed entirely in white. Noticing that both Lincoln and Octavia look pissed, Clarke took another look at the couple's back as she approached, trying to figure out who exactly they were and why Linc and Octavia would be so upset by them.

The more she looked, the more she noticed something familiar about them, but couldn't quite place where she knew them from. Chances were, if they knew Lincoln, she had probably been introduced to them at some point and just didn't remember. It happened a lot when you frequently met socialites who really had no interest in getting to know you and vice versa.

As soon as Octavia spotted her, she tensed, and started tugging on Lincoln's arm, but by the time he looked up Clarke was already at their side, looking at them both curiously. A familiar laugh drew her attention to the couple talking with his parents and in horror, she finally saw their faces.

Finn was wearing a white tux with a gold angel wing tie clip and Raven was wearing a matching dress and brooch. Both had smooth gold rings circling their heads, looking exactly like glowing halos set against their dark hair and Clarke felt vomit in the back of her mouth. For a moment, her heart might actually have stopped.

Lincoln was already moving, trying to draw her away from them before anyone noticed the problem, but then Finn turned toward them, brilliant movie star smile tacked all over his lying face, and saw her. The bastard didn't even look shocked or ashamed, he just smiled wider like they were all good friends or something and it made Clarke furious.

"Clarke… wow! You look amazing," Finn said, eyes drifting from the top of her head to her feet and back up again. "And here I thought that Octavia had the best costume of the evening. No offense to you of course," he said nodding towards Octavia who was glaring at him, lips in a thin line, but not saying anything.

"Octavia…," Clarke said shakily, "Do you know them?" Every horribly suspicious part of her brain was begging her to scream and cry, ready to believe only the very worst because that's what she had come to expect from life and friendships. Was it possible that Octavia knew Finn and Raven the way she'd known that Bellamy worked at the prison? Surely this wasn't just some trick that she'd finally gotten caught in. Clarke's eyes swam with tears as she waited for the answer, and she tried hard to blink them back, aware that there were several pairs of eyes on her.

"No, Clarke! Oh my god no! I don't know them at all," Octavia said, rushing to pull Clarke into a tight embrace. "These assholes are here for Lincoln's parents. They are brokering some kind of big business deal with Finn," she whispered when her face was close enough to Clarke's ear that they wouldn't be overheard.

Letting out a relieved sigh and trying desperately to keep from going to pieces, Clarke took a shaky breath and let it out slowly. Octavia's swift reassurance may have put her suspicious mind at ease, but it did nothing to alleviate the awkwardness of the situation. Glancing over Octavia's shoulder as she stepped back, Clarke saw Raven glaring in her direction, eyes cold and furious. Not that she could blame her. Finn had just acted like a total asshole not only to her, but to his fiance as well and if she were Raven, she probably would have already punched him in the face. Maybe Raven was just playing nice for the sake of the Senators business deal the way Lincoln and Octavia were. Either way, she felt a wave of sadness wash over her as she watched the beautiful girl struggle for composure in the face of Finn's infidelity and disgusting lack of morals.

"Clarke, why don't you join us for a drink?" Finn asked, stepping closer to their group and Clarke watched as both Octavia and Raven instantly stiffened.

"What did you just say?" Octavia bit out through gritted teeth. It was clear to everyone, except Finn apparently, that Octavia was about to lose it. Lincoln stepped forward to take her arm and Raven put a restraining hand on Finn's shoulder, but thankfully Lincoln's parents remained oblivious. Clarke just stared, unable to comprehend how one person could be so horrible.

"It's okay O," Clarke said pushing herself a little in front. As much as she appreciated the solidarity, no one was fighting this fight for her. There was no way in hell that Clarke would let Octavia lose Lincoln's parent's good opinion on her behalf. "I've got this," she said, looking at the other girl seriously. Clarke waited until Octavia nodded and then she looked away, back to where Finn was having a quiet argument with Raven.

"She shouldn't even be here. You promised that this kind of shit wouldn't happen again and here you are parading your whores in front of my face at every turn! I can't do this anymore Finn," Raven said loud enough that Clarke could hear.

It felt like a slap in the face. Clarke had never, not once in her life, given anyone a reason to think she was a whore. She didn't give or receive love easily and trusted people even less, but here was some girl who she hadn't even truly met, calling her a whore in front of her friends and acquaintances like she was nothing more than dirt under her feet. Trash, that's how she felt, used up and discarded.

"Clarke isn't a whore," she heard Finn say quietly, trying and failing to calm down his fiance. "This isn't the time or place for this sweetheart," he said and pulled her into a hug.

Clarke could see him whispering into her ear and Raven struggling to pull away, but then Raven's eyes met Clarke's over Finn's back and she froze, letting Finn hold her close as he spoke. There was rage in her eyes, that was easy to see, but somewhere around the edges, in the deep parts that people usually kept hidden, Clarke thought she could see sadness and resignation too. It made her heart hurt for a girl that she didn't even know and more than that, it made her angry. Finn had no right to treat his fiance that way, talking to his ex-lover and joking around like nothing was wrong! It was sick and if Raven wasn't going to say something then she sure as hell was!

"Finn," Clarke gritted out, voice turned to ice. When he released Raven and turned to face her he still had that ridiculous smile stuck to his face, but it quickly turned to a look of caution when he saw the fury blazing out of her eyes.

"Now listen Clarke," he said holding his hands up in a placating gesture, "what we had was nice and I'm sorry that it ended the way it did. I just can't help myself sometimes. Raven knows that," he added with a small smile for the broken girl at his side.

To Clarke's horror, Raven dropped her head like she truly did accept that Finn's behavior was a natural part of life. Like this was it for her and she had no other choice but to allow it to happen, allow him to walk all over her. The more Clarke stared at Raven, and the more Finn rambled on about men's natural urges, the more her vision bled to crimson. Her fingers fisted of their own accord and a fine trembling had started in her body.

Just as Clarke had reached her breaking point, ready to scream every profanity she'd ever heard into his smug face, she felt a hand on her arm and turned, eyes burning, to see the man from the patio. He looked grim as he assessed the situation and she wondered how long he'd been listening to their very private conversation.

"Care for a dance?" he asked, looking steadily into her eyes and ignoring the indignant snort from Finn. A crooked smile quirked the corners of his lips and Clarke found herself wanting to smile back at him. It would be so easy to turn on her heel and lose herself in this man's arms, perhaps after telling Finn to take a flying leap off nearest cliff because he just wasn't worth it, but then Finn had to open his stupid fucking mouth and start her rage burning all over again.

"I don't think she's interested buddy," Finn said stepping forward, but when he met the combined heat of both of their gazes, he stopped as if he'd hit an actual wall.

"I'd love to," Clarke said through gritted teeth as she fought to keep her hand from slapping Finn across the face.

Lincoln was frowning at them as Clarke allowed herself to be led onto the dance floor, but he didn't try to stop them. He was too busy keeping Octavia calm and at his side which was quite a task by the look of things. Clarke smiled when she saw Octavia gesturing wildly in Finn's direction while Lincoln nodded and shielded her from his parent's view with his broad chest. Lincoln was leading her slowly away from everyone, probably to allow her enough time to cool off before rejoining his parents. He was calm and collected, the way he usually was in a crisis and Clarke couldn't help but smile in their direction, but then strong arms were pulling her onto the dance floor and she didn't have time to look at anything.

This was nothing like their slow spinning on the patio. For starters, the song was fast and lively and her feet were flying as her partner spun her expertly in his arms. He led her in a way that made her feel secure and strangely graceful. The wings on her back fluttered and swayed along with her body and she was certain that at some point they were going to come flying off and go careening into another couple or that she'd accidentally knock someone over with them, but to her surprise they stayed put through every single spin and his hands guided them away from anyone that might be bowled over with practiced ease.

"Where did you learn to dance like that?" Clarke asked when the song ended. She was slightly out of breath and wondered if she looked as flushed as she felt. Hopefully not.

"My little sister took lots of dance classes growing up and unfortunately it was left to me to be her partner at home when she wanted to practice. I picked up on a few things along the way," he said, eyes twinkling as he smiled down at her.

"More than a few I'd say," she said playfully and watched in fascination as something wicked filled his eyes.

"You haven't seen anything yet," he whispered soft and low, sending a shiver down her spine. His eyes focused intently on her lips for only a moment before he was pulling her into another dance.

This time she let herself go, forgetting to be nervous or embarrassed, and just let him steer them both around the floor. People in all sorts of colors and dress blurred around them as they spun and she found herself laughing without knowing why. All that had happened since she met him had seemed so easy and perfect. It was impossible that they'd only just met tonight. Everything about him felt safe and strangely familiar and it was odd that while she might know the exact feel of his soft lips, or the heat of his hand on her lower back, she didn't even know his real name.

Perhaps that was part of the magic. He was just some stranger come among them for one night to make her forget about how screwed up her life was and remind her that there were still good things out there and then just as quickly he'd be gone. Disappearing into the night like some fairytale prince, he'd take with him all the pressure and possibility of disappointment that actually getting to know one another presented. It was perfect and just for tonight, she vowed to let herself enjoy it.

"Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?" he whispered quietly in her ear while they slow danced their way around the floor.

"Stop, you'll make a girl blush," she said, exaggeratedly fluttering her eyelashes up at him. He gave her a devilish grin and dipped his head toward her.

"I can think of a lot better ways to make you blush, princess," he growled when his lips were hovering bare centimeters above her neck and she shivered again. He chuckled, blowing softly against her skin and making her forget her own name. Before she could form coherent response, his lips were ghosting up and down the column of her throat, nothing indecent, but enough to make her think dirty thoughts and boy was she ever!

"What… what do you do for a living," she stuttered as he began nibbling at her ear. It wasn't very original, and was certainly a jarring change of topic, but she needed to get the conversation back on track pronto or she was afraid she'd do something horribly embarrassing, like swoon in his arms or jump him right here on the dance floor.

"I was in the Navy," he said, grinning against her skin and answering the question without really answering it. He must have known exactly what she'd been thinking before she asked and it made her flush hotly.

"Ah of course, it makes perfect sense," she said even though she really had no idea what she was talking about. By that point she wasn't even really sure she was they were talking about as images of his body in a uniform, or shirtless and sweaty while he worked, flashed across her mind.

"And what do you do?" he asked politely, obviously taking pity on her because he leaned back a little, creating a pocket of air between them as they danced. Her body mourned the loss of his heat, but her head was finally starting to clear and she was grateful.

"I work in the medical ward at a prison," she said, letting out a pent up breath and trying to relax again in his arms while her libido rose and fell in waves.

"I can just imagine you in a nurses uniform," he said with another wicked grin and she was torn between wanting to laugh at his naughty nurse fantasy and wanting to slap the look off his face. Under any other circumstances she might have been offended at the misogynistic assumption that she was a nurse, but she couldn't quite get herself worked up about it while staring into his dark brown eyes.

"Actually," she said primly, "I'm a doctor."

"It makes perfect sense," he said, giving her own words back to her and she against her will, she felt herself grinning like a fool.

While they talked, she hadn't noticed any of the other couples around them, but a familiar laugh nearby snapped her head to the left fast enough that it was painful. Finn was dancing with Raven close enough that she could almost touch them. He was grinning and laughing like everything in the world was going his way even though his partner looked stiff and uncomfortable and Clarke's face immediately pulled down into a scowl.

"The best way to win is to show him how little you care," a velvety voice whispered near her ear and she jumped, surprised that she hadn't felt him bend down while she was focused on glaring Finn out of existence. He was smiling when she turned her head back to his, but there was a certain seriousness around his eyes that told her he meant what he said.

"You're absolutely right," she said and promptly turned away from the sight of her ex-lover peacocking his way around the dance floor. "I'm all yours," she said beaming up at the masked devil that had quite literally saved her evening from disaster.

"Glad to hear it," he murmured and used one large bronze hand to drag her against his body.

They stayed that way for what felt like hours, chatting through slow songs and laughing through fast ones as she let the world slip away. There was nothing but the feel of his arms around her and the sound of his voice in her ear. Clarke found that he was smart and funny, but not in the cruel way that some people were and it made her heart sing. The attention, even from a stranger, was like balm to her bruised heart and tattered ego and she couldn't help but think that he deserved the angel wings and halo a hell of a lot more than Finn.

Too soon, the room started to empty, guests filing out to waiting cars, and she found herself wanting to cling to him tighter. Begging the band to play one more song so that she could enjoy just one more dance, seemed a little too desperate however. All good things had to come to an end and sadly, hers was fast approaching.

"I should go find my friend," she said as they stopped spinning. Fervently hoping that the look in his eyes was regret so that she wouldn't feel so ridiculous about her own feelings about their parting, she stepped away and smiled. "I've had a really great evening," she added.

"Me too," he said quietly, bringing one hand up to nervously rub at the back of his neck. Clarke smiled as she watched, recognizing an old habit when she saw one. It was cute, almost making him look like a little boy despite his impressive size.

"Thanks," she said, unsure of what else there was to say. Part of her wanted to demand he take off his mask and reveal himself so that she could beg him for his number and possibly stalk him for the rest of her life, but another part, the larger one, knew that this night was special, in part, because of the anonymity.

They were just two nameless people that met and had a connection. There were no expectations or demands, no need to feel obligated or confused. It was just one glancing blow between two passing souls in the vastness of the universe and she knew that forcing a further connection would ruin it, so she didn't. This night would remain untouched and perfect in her mind, something to think about when she was sad or lonely and she was okay with it ending this way. He was too amazing, too funny, too handsome and she knew that given enough time, she'd start to peel back the layers and she might not like what lay underneath. No, this was the best possible outcome to the best evening she may have ever had.

"It was my pleasure," he said and to her surprise, he reached for her hand, pulling it to his mouth and placing a gentle kiss on her open palm.

His lips were there and gone again so briefly that it almost didn't even happen, but at the same time, she could feel his lips like a brand against her skin long after he'd let go and stepped away. With one last grin, he turned and walked away, not looking back even after he pushed through the doors and out into the night.

"Clarke!" Octavia yelled from somewhere behind her, but Clarke was too busy staring after the masked enigma that had managed to imprint himself on her skin, maybe on her very being, to bother turning to see where Octavia was.

"Earth to Clarke," Octavia said, snapping her fingers in front of Clarke's face and grinning when she got close enough. "Seriously babe. Close your mouth before drool starts coming out," she said and laughed when Clarke flushed.

"Haha very funny," Clarke said rolling her eyes and pushing Octavia's hand away from her face.

"Lincoln is getting the driver. Are you about ready to blow this popsicle stand?" she asked, linking her arm with Clarke's and pulling her towards the entrance to the garage. Clarke laughed at her enthusiasm and followed her through the door and out to the waiting car, but a part of her stayed behind on that dance floor. It was the part that believed in fairy tales and magic. She wondered if she'd miss it.

Lincoln was already there, waiting like a gentleman beside their open door and Clarke couldn't help but smile again as Octavia rushed into his arms like they hadn't seen each other in a millennium instead of the ten minutes it probably took him to find the driver. They were sweet, almost too sweet to watch and Clarke found herself sighing and let her mind drift back to her mysterious dance partner while Octavia helped her removed her wings and chattered excitedly about all of the people she'd met. When she was free, Clarke returned the favor and then Lincoln ushered them both into the car.

All the way back to her loft, Clarke's mind was filled with liquid brown eyes, strong hands, and soft lips. Even when Octavia started grousing about how horrible Finn was, Clarke couldn't seem to find it in her to care. Everything about Finn paled in comparison to the man she'd met tonight. Her only regret was that she'd spent even one second speaking to Finn, not because of her bad feelings towards him, but because that was a moment taken away from the rest of the evening spent enjoying herself with someone so much better.

 **A/N**

 **I guess I need to say this although I was hoping I wouldn't have to. This is a modern AU and not meant to be a direct translation of Kass Morgan's characters - obviously. Some people may find that their favorite characters are a bit OOC. Others may think the whole damn story is off... either way I'm sort of tired of hearing it. If you don't like the story don't read it. If you think the characters are too OOC DON'T READ IT. Just stop right now. Turn the computer off... think awful thoughts about all the ways you could have written it better and move on to something that you find more suitable. I won't hold it against you. In fact I will applaud you! I don't know how many times I have to tag this as AU for people to understand that I'm not rewriting The 100 and it's characters verbatim, but this is probably the last time I will bother saying it here. I am truly thrilled that people are enjoying the story. I appreciate every review (even critical ones), but I swear to God if one more person messages me about Clarke not being Clarkey enough to suit them I'm going to delete the whole damn thing and fire bomb my computer! This is a silly piece of fanfiction fluff that I write in my spare time for shits and grins. It's a way for me to practice structuring and explore my curiosity with tropes and all things Cliche. It's why I titled that damn story as Cliche, but somehow people are still missing the point. I've been called a racist because of this story for Christ Sake! It's just a story... meant to be read for pleasure not as a way to raise your (probably dangerously high) blood pressure. So... if those people (you know who you are) that keep messaging me with unhelpful, long winded, and worst of all asinine comments about how the "real Clarke Griffin" would act (you know she doesn't actually exist right?) could kindly go jump off the nearest bridge that would be just lovely! **

**Okay... rant over, but seriously... stop... just stop. Also, all of the rest of you... I love you. You are amazing and I'm sorry for this. I normally avoid authors notes like the plague, but the dread I feel after posting a new chapter almost made me not upload this one. I've had it done for a while, but have been dragging my feet about putting it up because I don't want my inbox flooded with nonsense. Ugh... rant over for real.**


	7. Work as Usual

**A/N: I know it's been forever and I'm sorry. For those of you still reading this, or anyone who left positive comments while I was away, I've written something for you in the end notes after the chapter. 3**

The rosy afterglow she'd been basking in since the party faded into nonexistence the moment Clarke stepped out of her car and into the prison parking lot. Everything was gray and bleak, even the sky overhead, and it felt strangely like an omen. Nothing good had every happened to her here, she realized as she walked slowly toward the door. For a long time now, she'd been telling herself that the pleasure she derived from serving the community and those less fortunate, outweighed all of the negative things inside this place, but after recent events, she was seriously reconsidering all of her choices.

It wasn't like she was contemplating leaving. It would be extremely ungrateful of her considering that they'd let her off with no charges after her near fatal disaster with Murphy, but it got her to thinking about what she really wanted for her future. Not even the lure of working with Wells could overshadow all of the negative feelings she had about TonDC these days. Negative feelings lead to stress and stress leads to drinking and nightmares. As she walked, snippets of her conversation with Wells about not sleeping played on repeat in her mind, bringing with them tiny frown lines on her forehead.

The receptionist smiled warmly when she entered, just like she always did, and Clarke made an effort to pull herself out of her maudlin thoughts to return the smile. Focusing on negative things that she couldn't change right now was a bad idea, so instead Clarke tried to remember exactly how blissful she'd felt last night at the party. Unfortunately, that brought it's own kind of discomfort and she found herself blushing furiously as the guard on the opposite side of the body scanner stared at her curiously.

Clarke never glanced up from her feet, willing the sudden rush of blood to leave her cheeks, as he ran his wand up and down her sides and then handed her back her keys and purse. As soon as the cool metal fell into her open palm, she took off like a rocket, speed walking towards her office like her life depended on it. Whoever was monitoring the camera's was probably getting a good laugh, but the prospect of hiding behind her closed office door pushed her onward regardless of the spectacle she was making. A fluttering near her navel let her know that she was still nervous about meeting Raven unexpectedly in a random hallway and she put on an extra burst of speed as the locked medical wing doors came into view.

Rather than coming face to face with Raven as she was buzzed through the door, she found herself directly in front of an equally unpleasant person. Bellamy. He was staring at her strangely, looking from her eyes to her still slightly pink cheeks, and for a moment she thought he was going to smile, but then his face smoothed out and he glanced away. The exchange was so awkward that she'd stopped in her tracks to stare at him, that was until someone from the guard booth cleared their throat, effectively snapping her back to the present, and she scurried off down the hall and into her office like the timid little mouse she'd become.

"Pathetic," she mumbled as she dropped her purse onto her desk and reached for her lab coat. There was no reason for her to be acting so weird around everyone and if she didn't get her shit together soon, like yesterday, she was going to end up on Thelonious' radar again.

Wells poked his head in almost as soon as she'd settled into her chair to fire up her computer and she glanced at him with a concerned frown, noting the tired lines around his eyes. He must have worked another night shift for someone. Wells was like that, always picking up the slack when they needed it and it made her feel guilty knowing that he might have been working over time because of her small leave.

"You look tired," she said motioning him in. He nodded and sank slowly into his preferred chair on the other side of her desk. It was where he always sat when he was in her office and she found herself wondering if it was more comfortable than the other chair or if he just always preferred to be seated on the right side. She'd never had much cause to sit in either of those chairs so it could very well be that, that one was more comfortable, but she suspected it was just a quirk of his. He'd be on the right side even if he was wrong, she thought and smiled.

"What's so funny about me being a feeble old man?" he asked and groaned a little as he messaged the back of his neck.

"Nothing, and you aren't old so stop," she said firmly. If Wells was old she was old too and that was unacceptable. They weren't even in their thirties yet for Christ sake, but oddly enough she knew what he meant. It wasn't just physical years aging you, but life experiences as well. The more things life threw at you, the more weight you added to your shoulders and eventually, if you didn't find a way to balance things out, that weight crushed you.

"How was the ball?" he asked, changing the subject quickly.

She'd spent almost two days yammering his ear off about it over the phone, but now that it was over, she didn't really know what to say. Sure, she could tell him about how great the costume was or show him a few of the picture she'd taken with Lincoln and Octavia, but that would only be skimming the most shallow of surfaces regarding how she felt about last night. It would probably be a good idea to tell him about Finn and Raven that way he could help her be on the look out for Finn's feisty fiance, but she didn't really want to relive her unpleasant exchange with the couple from hell right then… possibly ever.

Her time spent dancing, laughing, kissing, and just in general enjoying life, stood in brilliant contrast to those few small moments with Finn and she didn't want to tarnish any part of it by thinking about him. Finn wasn't worth that. Also, if she started talking about Finn she'd start talking about how upset she was for Raven and then Wells would want to talk about feelings and conflict resolution because out of every one in her life, he was the only one that thought it would be a good idea to confront Raven about what Clarke had come to think of as "the incident." Clearing the air, Wells had called it when he'd broached the subject to her on the phone over the weekend.

Regardless of Wells' advice, the only clearing she was planning on doing was clearing the hell out if she ever spotted Raven again! No matter how sorry for her she was, Clarke had no interest in getting another black eye. It wasn't that she was afraid necessarily, more that she just didn't want to have to deal with it. Emotionally unstable people reminded her uncomfortably of her own short comings in that department so she tended to avoid them whenever possible. Wells knew that and she wondered if it was part of the reason he was being so insistent about making up with Raven even though Clarke had clearly expressed her opinions on the matter. It would be just like him to use this opportunity with Raven to make her self reflect. Wells was sneaky that way.

"It was actually kind of great," she said, deciding that honesty was usually the best policy. The last time she'd glossed over the little details while talking to Wells, she'd ended up getting herself into a whole world of mess and she wasn't exactly anxious to have a repeat performance. "I met someone, and before you start in, I don't know anything about him. We aren't dating. I didn't get his number and we won't see each other again. It was just a nice thing that happened and now it's over," she rushed out before Wells could get a word in and then flushed when he raised an eyebrow at her.

"Okay," he said nonchalantly, but she could almost see the wheels turning inside his head. "But if it was that great, why are you hyperventilating over there?"

And there it was. That too perceptive brain of his was on overdrive trying to figure out what was going on inside her head. It was sort of exhausting, this whole trying to outsmart the smartest person she knew thing, but it was a game that she was still willing to play from time to time, if her need was great enough.

"I'm not," she said trying for an unconcerned shrug. "I just don't want you reading into something that isn't going to be a thing," she added and he nodded like he understood perfectly, but she knew before he even spoke that he wasn't totally buying it.

"Great, so what parts of it are something that's going to be a thing?" he asked and got that sly look in his eyes, the one he always got when he'd finally worked out the strategy he wanted to use. She'd seen it, or variations of it at least, in his eyes ever since they were kids. Wells was a brilliant strategist, had been since he was little, be it with board games like back then, or with complex puzzles of the human mind like he dealt with in his adult life. All those years of fitting puzzle pieces together, locked inside his stuffy, book filled bedroom, had left him with an almost inexhaustible fount of knowledge to draw on when he had a problem to solve. A problem, like what Clarke was trying to hide about her mystery date, was exactly the kind of challenge that appealed to him.

She'd never been able to outsmart him then and she doubted she would now. Rather than draw out what was bound to be a lengthy battle of words, with him trying to coax information out of her without her realizing it, she chose to cave almost immediately.

In less than five minutes, she'd told him everything, from the meeting with Finn and Lincoln's weird reaction to her mystery man, to how she'd felt dancing for the first time since her dad passed away. She even managed to squeeze in her excitement over being able to stand right in front of Lincoln without him noticing that her face was all messed up.

Make up and Octavia's surprising ability to keep a secret when it meant keeping Lincoln from strangling her brother, were amazing things. With any luck, the bruise would fade and Lincoln would never be the wiser.

All the while, Wells sat silent and still, thoughts spinning behind his warm brown eyes, but left unspoken as he allowed her to finish her story.

"So," Clarke said taking a deep breath, "aren't you off work yet? You need to get home and get some rest. You look tired," she stated again for good measure. Wells almost definitely had more questions and she doubted that he'd wait another day to ask them, but it was worth a shot.

"I'm off work, yes," he stated blandly. "Why do you think that Lincoln was acting strange around this masked savior? He's always seemed to be very perceptive in the past." Wells' face puckered as he said the words, but his discomfort didn't stop the question. Clarke knew how much it must have cost him to say something complimentary about Lincoln, so she strove to give as honest an answer as she could in recognition of his sacrifice.

"I think maybe he just didn't like the idea of me getting friendly with someone I barely knew. Really, I'm a little surprised at myself," she said frowning. "Maybe I'm just acting out because of everything that happened with Finn?"

"Maybe," Wells agreed with a nod. "Or maybe you just had a connection. There's nothing wrong with liking people or enjoying yourself Clarke. As long as you are doing it safely," he added.

"Well, like I said before, I'm not ever going to see him again so it doesn't really matter." Saying it out loud made it more real and each time the words passed her lips, a tiny bit of the magic was stolen away. Soon all she'd be left with were memories of another ordinary night, no mystery man, no stolen kisses, just another random charity event. It made her sad and it must have shown on her face, because when she looked back up, Wells was looking at her with concern evident in his gaze.

"Never say never," he said seriously as he rose from his chair with a groan. "I've got to get home to Callie and you sound like you need some time to think and regroup." He came around to drop a brotherly kiss on the top of her head and then he headed for the door. "Try not to get into anymore fights while I'm gone," he said with a smile. "That bruise still looks pretty bad ass so you don't really need anymore battle scars for a while."

She flipped him off and he laughed as he stepped into the hallway and pulled her door closed behind him. With a sigh, Clarke pulled her compact out of her purse and held it up so she could study her face. It was true, her face still looked pretty rough, but only if you knew what you were looking for. The sickly green and pale yellow of her bruise was much more easily hidden with concealer than it's black and purple predecessor. She was wearing her thick framed glasses again too, so that helped. Not that it mattered. Everyone in the prison probably knew about Raven's little visit about five minutes after it happened so there was very little use hiding it. Gossip traveled like wildfire when it was juicy enough, and with a story like hers, she'd probably be the talk to of the prison for the next five years!

With a heavy sigh, Clarke snapped the compact shut and put it away. Don't focus on the negative, don't focus on the negative. Somewhere along the way, that had become her personal motto even though most days it didn't do a damn bit of good. Not looking at a problem didn't mean you didn't have one. It was a little like hiding your face in your hands as a child and assuming because you couldn't see them, no one could see you. That is to say, it is comforting, but not very smart.

Just as Clarke was about to start rifling through files so she could get on with her day, her cell phone rang shrilly, startling her. Fishing it out of her purse, she glanced at the caller ID and smiled. Of course it was Octavia, it wasn't like she had a lot of other friends desperate to call her this early in the morning. Well, aside from Wells, but she'd just talked to him.

"What's up buttercup?" she answered with a grin.

"Oh my god Clarke! You'll never believe what happened last night," Octavia screeched.

"What happened?" Clarke prompted, shifting papers around on her desk as she waited for Octavia to spill the beans. She knew from experience that while Octavia's exuberance generally led to over sharing, which was usually entertaining, all that meandering also meant that you might have to wait quite a while before she got to the point.

"Lincoln popped the question!" Octavia squealed. If they were face timing, Clarke was positive she'd be witnessing Octavia jump up and down while trying not to explode. Clarke could almost hear Octavia's body vibrating with excitement through the phone, and she laughed.

"Congratulations!" Clarke said and genuinely meant it. Gushing wasn't really something Clarke did and she knew for a certainty that she'd never reach Octavia levels of excitement about anything, but she hoped Octavia could sense how truly pleased she was. She may not have known Octavia for long, but she'd known Lincoln for years and knew that he'd never be able to find a more perfect match. "Should I be saving a date?"

"Not yet. I haven't even told Bellamy, so please don't say anything to anyone," Octavia pleaded.

"Of course not," Clarke said quickly. She'd rather eat her own tongue than break that news! "But when are you going to announce it? Do Linc's parents know?"

"We are going to tell them tonight at dinner," Octavia said happily.

"You must have made quite an impression last night for them to already be inviting you back for dinner," Clarke said jokingly and laughed when Octavia told her to shut it.

"I'll have you know," Octavia replied haughtily, "I am fantastic." Clarke snorted, but Octavia ignored her. "I mean honestly, they are the ones that should feel privileged."

"Well you be sure to tell them that tonight at dinner," Clarke said smothering laughter. "Listen, I've got to get to work, but why don't we meet tomorrow for dinner or something?"

"That would be great because we really need to get started on your bridesmaid dress," Octavia chirped and Clarke rolled her eyes.

"Bridesmaid dress huh? I guess that means I'm for sure invited to the wedding?"

"Bitch you're going to be the maid of honor," Octavia said and Clarke outright laughed.

"If you want," Clarke agreed still laughing.

"Good, I'll text you the dinner details as soon as I get them," Octavia said quickly. "Toodles!"

Still grinning, Clarke said goodbye and slipped her phone back into her purse, making sure it was on silent this time around. Locking the drawer she kept her valuables in, she scooped up a report and headed out the door with a small smile still on her face. Octavia's news had completely turned her sour mood around and she was excited for her friend. Both of her friends, she thought with another grin as she headed down to the nurses station and asked for patient follow up files.

The morning was going okay. Patients were routine, Maya was working so there weren't any unpleasant interactions at the nurse's station, even the break room hadn't been so bad when she'd went to grab a cup of coffee. Clarke should probably have known that since things seemed to be going so well, it was inevitable that everything was about to go very wrong.

Enter Cage Wallace, a cocky, married guard who had more inmate complaints than most of the other guards combined. How he was even still working at TonDC was beyond Clarke, but apparently most of the incidents were never investigated, or if they were investigated, they were dismissed as groundless. Surprise, surprise. Clarke didn't like to think about corruption in the prison system. They were all aware that it happened, you'd have to be an idiot to miss all of it, but truthfully there wasn't much that anyone could reasonably do about it, so she preferred not think about it.

Changes would have to come from the top down not from the bottom up and she was very aware that while she wasn't at the bottom, she was also nowhere near the top. Not like Thelonious and his golf cronies.

With some change in legislation lots of things could be different, but getting a politician to care about inmates, or anything to do with inmates, was nearly impossible. Politicians cared about constituents and constituents didn't care about inmates either. It didn't matter that they were human beings, most of whom had made one terrible mistake and were paying for it with their lives. It didn't matter that overcrowding and deplorable conditions amounted to horrendous personal suffering among prison populations. The only thing that mattered to most people was the knowledge that the "bad guys" were locked up nice and tight while they sat on their suburban lawns and congratulated themselves on how clever they were for solving the crime problem in their neighborhood.

Who cared about the thousands of criminals released every year with inadequate mental health evaluations who were almost guaranteed to re-offend within the first year of their release? Why bother setting up gainful employment for ex felons when they were just going to end up right back in the system anyway? No one bothered to think about the fact that having zero prospects after prison is what turned the vast majority of inmates back to their criminal ways.

It was a never ending exercise in futility and thinking about it would give anyone a headache, and Clarke didn't need anymore headaches. All she could do was try her best to minimize human suffering while she was here and hope for change. Not that it did much good.

Regardless of how much you tried to help, there was always someone like Cage that would come in and erase months, maybe years of positive progress with one stupid, careless gesture and not give a damn about the consequences. He didn't care if the inmates hated him, because he was a guard and thought that his uniform made him invincible. Clarke had a feeling that one day he'd figure out the error in that assumption the hard way, but trying to convince someone like that of anything was nearly impossible.

Most of the staff didn't like Cage any better than the inmates, but on the same hand, who likes to complain about a coworker only to have them find out and hate you for it? No one was getting fired, especially not Cage, so people tended to keep their mouths shut. If only Clarke could do the same, but unfortunately she wasn't that type of girl.

Charlotte was having her last breathing treatment before switching to antibiotics only and Clarke was headed to an exam room to give her one final check up. On the way there, she was reading all of the latest case notes while holding the file directly in front of her face, because of course she was, when she walked right into a wall of flesh. Glancing up, she already had an apologetic smile on her lips, but it wilted the instant her eyes met his.

"Excuse me," she said, trying for polite indifference as she stepped to the side to let him pass.

"No problem little lady," Cage said with an exaggerated southern drawl.

While she wasn't positive, because she avoided speaking to Cage whenever possible, Clarke was pretty damn sure that he wasn't from anywhere in the south. His accent sounded entirely fake, almost as fake as his charm in fact, and Clarke hated it every time she heard it. Gritting her teeth, she forced a smile and nodded her head, acknowledging him and dismissing him in one movement.

Apparently being so easily dismissed pissed him off because Clarke watched with some apprehension as his face settled into a frown, not quite a glare, but damn close. His brown eyes turned hateful even though she could see he was working not to show it, and then he smirked and walked past her.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Clarke started once again toward the exam room and Charlotte, but then she heard him mutter something that sounded a lot like slut and she just couldn't ignore it.

"Excuse me, I didn't quite catch that," she said coldly, spinning on her heel to confront him. He walked all the way to the guard booth before he bothered to stop and acknowledge her and by then she was fuming.

"Don't worry about it sweetheart," he said with a sickly sweet smile that made her skin crawl.

"You better watch your mouth," she said glaring at him.

"Oh don't worry, I know all about how you handle things and I don't want any part of it," he said and smirked. Other guards were spilling out of the booth and leaning over the counter to get a good look at the excitement and Clarke could feel her cheeks flush hotter with each new set of eyes.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she gritted out, trying to remain calm.

"I think you know," he replied slyly.

"Actually I have no clue what you are talking about. What I do know is that if you don't watch your mouth, I'll be reporting you," Clarke huffed in frustration. They both knew that even if she did, it was unlikely he'd get anything more than a slap on the wrist, but it was really her only recourse. Unless she wanted to slug him.

"Well don't you just fuck your way out of problems?" he asked with a nasty sneer. "Too bad for you my wife doesn't swing that way although I'd be happy to take you in hand, teach you a thing or two if you're looking," he said and smiled as the idiots around him laughed.

Only a few, Miller and Green for sure, looked as pissed as she felt, but no one said anything in her defense. It hurt, but she understood their hesitation. It wasn't like they were friends or anything even if she had been making progress in getting to know them. They were probably just pissed on Cage's wife's behalf anyway. No one deserved to be married to a pig like him.

When Clarke's anger hazed brain finally caught up with the rest of his comment, she realized that he had implied, probably intentionally, that she'd slept her way out of the incident with Murphy. Or at least that's what she assumed he was referring to. Did that mean that everyone assumed she was sleeping with Thelonious and that's why she was allowed to stay on at the prison?

As disgusting as that was, it was even more disturbing to think they might assume she'd slept with the entire review panel! The idea of having any of those crusty old men touch her was nauseating, but apparently the idea wasn't so far outside the realm of possibility that people easily dismissed it because here this asshole was implying that very thing like it was common knowledge! No one looked shocked by the accusation, so she could only assume it had already been discussed, probably at great length.

Thinking about her coworkers sitting around gossiping about how many times she'd had to blow someone to keep her job was enough to take the wind out of her sails and all of the fight went out of her in a rush. It didn't matter that they were wrong about her, or that she'd never done anything like that in her life, all that mattered was that it was a good story. Suddenly, Clarke felt about a million years old, but she'd started this conversation and now pride demanded that she finish it. Mustering up every last bit of dignity in her body, she squared her shoulders and met every single pair of eyes in the hallway before finally coming back to Cage's cold glare.

"Unfortunately for you, I don't sleep with losers," she said, trying to sound as indifferent as possible so they wouldn't know just how much his implied accusations bothered her. The hallway was deathly silent in the wake of her jab at Cage and she turned, intending to leave it at that, but she didn't get away fast enough to keep Cage from getting in the last word.

"That's not what Raven said," he called after her and again his words were followed by laughter.

And there it was, the darkest secret she'd ever had, carelessly blurted out by a scumbag guard that didn't know a thing about her or her life, like that was totally okay. It made her want to scream, or cry. Maybe both. Clarke's emotions were rioting as she stalked away from the tittering assholes behind her. This place was worse than being back in high school!

Clarke tried to ignore the looks from the nurses station as she stormed past, they'd probably heard everything too. Their stares nibbled at her skin like thousands of tiny insects trying to burrow their way inside, but she ignored them, stiffening her spine and walking as sedately as she could manage. The distance between the guard booth and Charlotte's exam room had never seemed so long, but she managed to get there without having any kind of outburst. Before opening the door, Clarke stopped to take a deep breath and try to calm her temper. It didn't work as well as she wanted, but by the time she pushed into the room at least her face wasn't as red as a cherry tomato.

Charlotte jumped about a foot when she entered, and the scared look on her face startled Clarke. What did Charlotte have to fear inside an exam room? Clarke's mind kicked into overdrive as she took a moment to read the rest of Charlotte's body language.

The girl was pale and shaking like a leaf, but trying to hide it. Her eyes, which had flown to Clarke in a panic as soon as she opened the door, were now trained determinedly on her feet, which dangled over the edge of the exam table reminding Clarke uncomfortably of the little girl she actually was. Not even old enough to vote and already chewed up by the system. It was disgusting, disheartening, and wrong, especially considering her actual crime, but it wasn't in Clarke's power to change her situation.

Clarke couldn't reduce her sentence, she couldn't absolve her of her crimes or even choose which prison she served her time in, but she could make her stay at TonDC a little less miserable and Clarke was determined to do everything in her power to make that happen. That meant figuring out what was wrong right now. The Charlotte on her table today was completely different than the first time they'd met.

Something had happened, and since the only change in her routine that Clarke was aware of were the breathing treatments she'd ordered, that meant that whatever was bothering her had probably happened in the medical wing. Perhaps it was a little bit of a leap, but Clarke's gut was warning her that something was very wrong in this room and it made her uneasy.

"How are you Charlotte?" Clarke asked cautiously as she stepped fully into the room and shut the door behind her. Perhaps being alone would make it easier for them to talk. Not for the first time, she wished she had Wells' super human ability to ferret out what was on people's minds.

"Good," Charlotte replied, but her shoulders remained slumped and her eyes never left the floor.

"I'm glad to hear it. The nurses tell me that the breathing treatments went really well. Your O2 levels are back within normal bounds and you no longer have a cough?" Clarke asked. She already knew the answer, Charlotte's chart told her everything she needed to know about Charlotte's physical condition, but she was hoping that perhaps if she got the girl talking, she might let slip what was really bothering her.

"Yes, ma'am." Two words, that's all she got. Two words and no eye contact. Something was definitely wrong.

"How are you getting along with your cell mates?" Clarke asked taking a seat on the stool next to the exam table which put her a little below Charlotte's eye level. She was familiar with the group of women Charlotte bunked with, they weren't the kind to bully or make trouble for people, but Clarke felt it was probably best to cover all her bases before she asked any difficult questions.

"Fine," Charlotte said in a monotone, but her back was less rigid, her voice just slightly warmer, and Clarke knew she was relaxing just a little.

"No more problems with them smoking around you?" Clarke asked, making sure to pretend to be reading something in her chart so that Charlotte wouldn't feel threatened by the question. Don't mind me, I'm just asking you to rat out your cell mates, nothing to be afraid of, Clarke thought while she waited to see if Charlotte would again deny her cell mates had contraband.

"No," she said quickly, and when Clarke glanced up, she saw the girl had a small smile on her lips. That was interesting. "As soon as they found out about my breathing treatments, they all banded together to make sure no one got within thirty feet of me with anything that they thought might aggravate my condition," she said using air quotes around aggravating and condition.

"It's nice that they are looking out for you. Friends can be a valuable asset, in here especially," Clarke said thinking of Wells.

"Yeah," Charlotte agreed shyly, ducking her head as soon as Clarke met her eyes.

"So if you are feeling better and getting along with the other inmates, what's going on?" Clarke asked. She knew that if Wells were here, he'd roll his eyes and berate her for being too direct or too impatient, maybe both, but that was all she could think of to do. As much as she might like to sit in this room and talk to Charlotte for the rest of the day while slowly weeding out the problem, the prison would never allow it. She wasn't a counselor or part of the psyche team, so in the administration's eyes, she had no business asking Charlotte about her emotional well being. Like it was somehow separate from her physical health, Clarke thought frustrated, not for the first time, that they refused to consider that someone's emotions could very much effect them physically.

Charlotte's smile dropped off her face as soon as the question was out of Clarke's mouth and she felt a little bad for it, but they didn't have time to beat around the bush. If she wanted help, Charlotte needed to spill the beans sooner rather than later. Charlotte's eyes brimmed with tears and then, damning prison policy to the darkest pits of hell, Clarke reached out and wrapped the girl in her arms.

"It's okay," she murmured as she felt Charlotte's body tremble. "Whatever it is, if you tell me, I will try my best to help you," Clarke added fiercely.

"I… I can't," Charlotte whispered. She sounded so young and so scared that it nearly broke Clarke's heart.

"You can," Clarke whispered back, stroking her soft blond hair. "We'll figure it out together," she said and squeezed her tightly.

After one tense moment, where Clarke thought she was going to have to let go without an answer, Charlotte hiccuped and a sob escaped her chest. After that it was like a tidal wave. More tears than Clarke thought possible for such a small girl to hold, came pouring out of Charlotte along with a stuttering confession that made Clarke's heart stop beating inside her chest.

Dark thoughts of violence and retribution wormed their way into Clarke's brain as she listened to Charlotte's halting story of what had happened to her, and it was a physical effort not to start screaming, but Clarke kept calm and quite, knowing that wasn't what Charlotte needed. Now wasn't the time for wrath, it was the time for compassion, understanding, and most of all, listening.

It wasn't a new story. In fact, Clarke had heard this particular one more times than she ever wished to count, but there was something about Charlotte's rendition that blackened a piece of Clarke's soul, one she hadn't realized had been left untarnished. But that didn't matter, none of what Clarke was feeling mattered, because this story was about Charlotte's pain. No one's feelings mattered except Charlotte's, so Clarke pushed her anger away and offered a young girl, who deserved so much better from life, the only thing she could, her support.

As the minutes ticked by, Charlotte's tears stopped flowing and eventually she trailed off. Silence followed, with both of them knowing there was little else that could be said, but all the while Clarke's mind spun on and on behind her carefully controlled expression.

Someone had raped her. Some monster, she wouldn't say who, had used her child's body for their own sick pleasure and it made Clarke's stomach churn. After it was over, Charlotte took a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh, which Clarke recognized as the weight of a secret being lifted. No matter how bad someone's story, there was a certain amount of liberty and comfort to be found in sharing your burden with another and Clarke hoped that at least in that respect, Charlotte felt a little better.

Rather than pester her for details about who and how, which she was almost positive that Charlotte was unable or unwilling to share, Clarke hugged her tight one last time and then switched on the practical, detached part of her brain where all of her training as a doctor lived.

"We need to do an examination," she told Charlotte quietly, trying to be as soft as possible while her mind spun with questions. Too her relief, Charlotte only nodded.

After that, Clarke's observations turned clinical. She couldn't look at the finger shaped bruises on Charlotte's hips or the bite marks on her shoulder like a normal human being or she would fall apart, and that wasn't acceptable. It wouldn't help Charlotte for her doctor to be an emotional mess, so she called in a nurse and set about documenting the tale her injuries told.

Fading bruises whispered that this hadn't been the first time. Scabbed over lacerations on her arms, scraped knees, and broken finger nails shouted that she'd fought back, that she hadn't submitted meekly. But it was the damage seen during the most intimate of exams that screamed the true violence of her encounter and it made Clarke sick.

When she was done, Charlotte was quiet. The entire room was quiet. Maya was scribbling notes and labeling specimens tubes, but her face was sad, her shoulders slumped. Even Clarke, who'd seen dozens of similar injuries in the years she'd been working for TonDC, was finding it hard to think of something to say. Nothing would make it better for Charlotte. Words couldn't take away what had happened to her or give back what she'd lost. The best they could do was offer her pain killers and make sure that she didn't have any venereal diseases. Days like this made Clarke hate her job, actually, they made her hate the whole damn world.

Charlotte never said who had done it, so Clarke was left with little option but to assume that she could be pregnant and ask her if she wanted a dose of levonorgestrel, which she explained was an emergency contraceptive most effective in the first 72 hours after unprotected sex.

Clarke could see from the confused look in her eyes, that Charlotte had not considered the possibility that she might be pregnant. One of two things could be inferred from this. One, she could have been raped by a female inmate using an implement for the actual penetration and was therefore not going to get pregnant. Or two, the option that seemed most likely after examining her injuries, Charlotte was so traumatized by the incident and focused only on ways to stop it from happening again, that she had not stopped to consider the long term effects of her assault.

It made Clarke's heart squeeze painfully as Charlotte shakily asked if it would kill a baby if one was already conceived, confirming without saying that there was a possibility that she could in fact be pregnant and therefore was raped by a man.

While Clarke explained that no, the medicine would not kill an already forming fetus, Clarke's mind was on auto pilot. Years of medical training was carrying her through the explanation and different options Charlotte had, while the rest of her brain tumbled through lists of men that would have had access to Charlotte and could potentially be her rapist.

The easiest solution would be for Charlotte to tell them who had done this, but right now, she was too frightened to tell them much of anything. Most people didn't understand it, but not wanting to identify your attacker after being raped was actually far more common than most people thought. Something about admitting that it happened made it more real, not to mention the social stigma of declaring yourself a victim in a society where rape culture ruled and crude jokes about how bad you must have actually wanted it were not only unpunished, but expected.

Recommending her to Wells and increased surveillance were really the only things that Clarke could officially offer her in the way of reparation, but she knew exactly where she was headed as soon as the official business was taken care of. Bellamy may be an asshole, but he was good at his job and she had a feeling that something like this happening to Charlotte right under his nose, was going to really get under his skin, which was good. It would push him to find answers and then Charlotte could seek justice.

"Maya will give you something for the pain and we will set you up for additional exams," Clarke said as they finished up. "If a pregnancy test comes back positive, we will discuss your options then," Clarke said quietly and then laid a soft hand on her shoulder. She could feel Charlotte shaking through the thin material of her standard, prison issue t-shirt and wished, not for the first time, that she could do more.

No one should have to go through something like this alone, but Clarke knew that she wouldn't be able to check up on Charlotte as much as she would like. The guards didn't let her just wander up and down the hallways at her leisure and unless Charlotte had medical complications, it was unlikely that Clarke would have further contact with her in the near future. All she could do was hope that her cell mates would band together to support her. They may only be inmates to some, but to Charlotte they could be friends, friends that would get her through this. They, in addition to Wells, were Charlotte's lifeline now.

"Thank you Dr. Griffin," Charlotte said quietly as Clarke prepared to leave the room. She turned just as her hand reached the door handle and gave the girl a small smile. The raw amount of emotion Clarke saw in Charlotte's eyes was almost too hard to look at, but nothing could have made her turn away. She owed Charlotte that, to look into her eyes and tell her without speaking that she wasn't alone even if Clarke couldn't physically be there, and to assure her that she would do everything in her power to see justice done.

All of that, conveyed in one look and a single nod, and then Clarke was closing the door behind her. For a moment she stood in the hallway, taking deep breaths and blinking back tears, and then she was power walking away, towards the guard booth.

It didn't matter what Cage had said, or that the other guards had laughed. Any lingering embarrassment was the furthest thing from Clarke's mind. Only finding out where exactly in the prison Bellamy was mattered now.

"I need to speak with Captain Blake," Clarke said to the nearest guard as she stepped up to the booth. She could see several men staring at her from the rear room where multiple computer screens were set up to monitor various parts of the prison and she gave them a hard stare until they turned back around.

"Ma'am," the young guard in front of her said cautiously, almost as if he could sense how on edge she was, "Captain Blake is taking his lunch in the break room with the other guys."

"Thank you," Clarke said and started to walk away, but not before she heard someone catcall from the back. By tomorrow morning, half the prison staff would probably be starting rumors about her and the Captain, but none of that seemed significant in light of the situation with Charlotte, so she gritted her teeth and continued to walk.

The break room was mostly empty, but when she stepped inside every pair of eyes shot up. Glancing around quickly, she located Bellamy in the back corner, eating a sandwich at a table with a few other guards. They looked to have been in the middle of a conversation when she barged in, and after a moment, two of them resumed, but Bellamy's dark brown eyes were trained on her, no longer interested in what they were saying.

"Captain, I need to speak with you," she said and once again the conversation stopped. Miller froze with a spoonful of soup halfway to his mouth, something that would have been comical under different circumstances, but today just wasn't.

"Okay," Bellamy said cautiously, but he didn't make a move to get up.

"In my office if you don't mind," she said firmly. Curious pairs of eyes flicked between her and their Captain, and she met every one, daring any man in the room to make a joke about the situation. For a moment nothing happened. Clarke's irritation immediately manifested into a frown which only garnered her more curious stares, but it got Bellamy moving at least.

He rose silently from his table, scooped his lunch into the trash and walked resolutely toward the door. Clarke didn't bother waiting for him once she knew he was coming. She simply turned her back and walked away, down the hall toward her office. There were no audible footfalls behind her, but that wasn't unusual for the Captain, so she didn't bother turning to check if he was following. She trusted that he knew she wouldn't invite him to her office to talk without a very great need and would therefore take the situation seriously.

Just as she suspected, he entered her office not five seconds behind her. For a moment she didn't speak, or turn towards him, she simply walked around her desk and sat down heavily. Her glasses landed on her blotter with a thump and she massaged her eyes with a sigh.

"Have a seat please," she said quietly.

Bellamy took the left chair, settling himself in with silent grace as she watched and then he raised one questioning eyebrow in her direction. From her vantage, she could see that he was gripping the arm rests tightly and that a muscle was twitching in his jaw, but nothing else betrayed what he was feeling at that moment.

"There is a situation with one of the female inmates that I need to speak with you about. Before I begin, I want to just say that I've already filled out the necessary paperwork and I will be making a call to Kane as soon as you leave my office. This isn't a secret or something that needs to be looked into clandestinely and I'm sure you will be notified again once the report filters through the appropriate chain of command, but I wanted to talk to you about it myself first," she said and raised her eyes to his.

He was looking at her strangely and she briefly wandered if she'd smeared off the concealer around her eye, but then decided she didn't really give a damn how she looked. Bellamy wouldn't care anyway and Charlotte's safety was a hell of a lot more important than her appearance.

"I wanted to talk to you first," she started again and then stopped, trying to express her feelings in the least awkward way possible, "because I knew that you would do everything you could to help her," she finished with a huff of frustration. Perhaps it wasn't the most elegant way to ask someone for help, but she felt like Bellamy would appreciate her concession for the major feat it was.

"Just tell me Clarke," he said quietly, but his tone was as serious as she'd ever heard it.

"Charlotte, one of the younger female inmates from cell block F," she said sliding the file across the desk at him as she spoke, "was attacked… she … she was raped," Clarke added, stumbling over the word. "Her physical examination showed evidence that this was not an isolated incident. It," again she paused, as her voice caught. Clarke could feel her eyes filling with useless tears and she blinked rapidly, dropping her gaze and willing them away before she continued. "It looks like it has been happening for at least a few weeks based on the fading bruises and partially healed lacerations."

Bellamy's hands, which had at first been resting flat on the arms of his chair, were now clenched into fists and his face looked like murder. Clarke stared at him while his eyes were turned away, and gave him a moment to gather himself before she continued.

"She would not, or could not," she amended quickly, "identify her attacker. I have surmised, via her emotional reaction to the possibility of pregnancy as well as her internal injuries, that she was not raped using an implement." Hopefully Bellamy would comprehend what she was saying without her having to actually say it.

"Are you thinking inmate or staff?" he asked, immediately understanding her meaning.

"I don't know, and that's why I came to you," she said staring at him across her desk. He looked grim, but determined. It was a look she was happy to see. "You know this prison inside and out, probably better than anyone here. You know who could have had access to her and I trust that you will do everything you can to see this…," she paused as she felt bile rise in her throat, "this monster… brought to justice. I can't even imagine how hard it was for her, dealing with something like this by herself all this time. I know you will make sure it doesn't happen again."

"I will do everything I can, Clarke," he said and rose from the chair. Her eyes followed him up and stayed locked with his as he prepared to leave her office. Everything about his posture spoke of years of military training, reserved, cautious, and above all, disciplined.

"I knew you would, Captain," she said and nodded her dismissal. For a moment he looked like he might say more, like he might offer a word of comfort or some reassurance like most people would, but then he turned on his heal and left. The door clicked shut behind him and Clarke let out a shaky breath.

Speaking with Captain Blake was never easy, but the call that she was about to make to Assistant Warden Kane would be more difficult still and she was trying to mentally prepare herself when a knock sounded on her door.

"Come in," she called quickly, thankful for the reprieve.

"Dr. Griffin," Maya said as she hesitantly entered the room. "I have the pictures that the forensic team took after you left," she said, passing a folder across the desk to Clarke's waiting hand.

"Maya why are you giving these to me? Shouldn't they be going to Captain Blake or into evidence or something?" Clarke questioned, not flipping the folder open as she stared up into Maya's nervous eyes.

"These are copies Dr. Griffin," Maya said wringing her hands and glancing anywhere, but at Clarke. "I thought that maybe you might see something in the pictures that you missed in the examination," Maya said and then quickly escaped the room.

Staring after her for a few seconds, Clarke set the folder down on her desk and picked up her phone. There was no more putting it off. If someone informed Kane before she did, her ass was grass, so without further ado, she placed one of the more difficult calls of her career knowing that when all was said and done, nothing might ever come of the investigation she was duty bound to initiate.

Kane thanked her for the call, expressed his commitment to finding the culprit, and then hung up before she could say more. Clarke was relieved that on the whole, her part in this drama was finished even though it made her feel guilty for feeling that way. The folder Maya dropped off caught her eye as she was stuffing papers back into Charlotte's medical file and she let her fingers skim across it's surface apprehensively before taking a deep breath, steeling her nerves, and flipping it open.

There were hand written notes and diagrams detailing specific injury locations, as well as pictures, many of them close ups of Charlotte's injuries, that were all clinical and disconnected. Nothing as personal as the victims face would ever be recorded in these cases unless the damage was to that specific area and even then they tried to make them as anonymous as possible which bothered Clarke more than she wanted to admit.

There was something about staring at those impersonal images that further dehumanized Charlotte and Clarke hated it, but what really caught her attention was the small yellow sticky note attached to the very last photo.

It was stuck to an image of one of the several bite marks dotting Charlotte's shoulders and had a message so simple and yet so stunning, that Clarke stopped breathing for a moment. She read it once, and then again, before her brain could fully process it's meaning.

Cage Wallace has been the accompanying guard for all of Charlotte's breathing treatments including the ones that required overnight stays. She has become increasingly distressed after each treatment and until today I didn't understand why. Please help her like I should have weeks ago.

The note was not signed, but there was little question in Clarke's mind as to who had written it. Maya was more observant than most of the nurses, but she was also quiet, preferring to keep her opinions to herself and Clarke had always respected that. Now, her sharp perception had made a leap that Clarke's less informed brain probably never would have and everything started clicking into place.

This afternoon when she was on her way to Charlotte's exam room, Cage had been walking down the same hall, away from the room Charlotte was in. He could very easily have been in the room with her, perhaps warning her to stay quiet, and no one would have even thought it was odd. There was nothing unusual about guards being present during exams when dealing with difficult inmates and even though Charlotte wasn't a difficult case, Clarke doubted anyone would question his being extra careful.

More and more, small pieces of the puzzle fitted themselves together in Clarke's mind. The scared look on Charlotte's face and obvious discomfort when Clarke entered the room. Cage's cocky demeanor and purposeful attempt to work her up could have been nothing more than a distraction. He may have just been trying to make her stop thinking about what exactly he'd been doing in that hallway. It made sense. Cage certainly had the creep factor down and with as many harassment complaints as he'd had throughout his career, there was enough evidence for a circumstantial case already, but that wasn't good enough.

Even if they matched dental records to the bite marks and came back with a positive match for Cage, it wasn't a guaranteed stick. Nothing short of a full confession or matching DNA samples would ensure that he spent as many years behind bars as he deserved if he actually was the man who raped Charlotte.

Clarke didn't have enough to take to Kane. A sticky note from some anonymous tipper wasn't going to impress anybody, but deep in her heart, Clarke knew that it was Cage. Every instinct she had was screaming at her to confront him, to let the whole world know what kind of monster he was, but the logical part of her brain stopped her. Just like breaking down during the exam, an emotional confrontation would not help Charlotte. In fact, it would probably hurt her case, so Clarke slipped the sticky note into her paper shredder, shut the folder full of picture and then stuffed it into Charlotte's medical file.

Standing, Clarke did the only thing she could for the moment, she picked up her keys and walked out the door of her office with her expression firmly under control. Her next patient, a woman with an unknown fungal infection on her hands and feet, probably from the showers, was waiting for her in exam room six and that was where she went.

At the end of the day, nothing had been solved, no evidence had been collected, no justice had been served. Wells hadn't even been there to help. However, Clarke had called him and made him aware of the situation that way if Charlotte refused to speak to the crisis counselors, he'd already have a back up plan.

It wasn't enough, but it was all she could do for the night so she hung up her lab coat, gathered her things, and headed for the door. She was exhausted, both her head and feet were throbbing with every step and all she really wanted to do was go home, take a bubble bath, and sleep for a solid ten hours before she had to get back up and do it all over again.

There was a group of people standing in a clump just outside the main entrance and out of the corner of her eye, Clarke noticed Bellamy peel away as she walked passed.

"Dr. Griffin," he said quietly and she stopped, turning to face him with a sigh.

She didn't want anymore from today. No more snickering over who she talked to or curious eyes marking her every move. No more avoiding people so she didn't accidentally walk in on someone talking about her. No more crushing stories of pain and horror. Today had given enough. She just wanted to go home, but after Bellamy had agreed so willingly to help her, she couldn't very well blow him off.

"What can I do for you Captain?" she asked in a defeated voice.

"I was just going to let you know that I went over patient logs and…" he paused, taking in her appearance. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice pitched low enough that no one else could hear it.

To Clarke's surprise, her eyes filled up with tears and she felt something dark and painful well up in her chest. There was a split second where she was worried that she was about to have some sort of mental break down in the prison parking lot with a bunch of Bellamy's buddies watching, but then she felt a firm pressure at her elbow. It wasn't a lot, but that small touch from one human being to another was enough to help her pull it back together long enough to get to her car and get the hell out of there.

"I'm fine, Captain," she said pulling her arm gently out of his grasp, but not before she noticed that he had angled his body so that no one could see what he had just done. "I'm… I'm so sorry, but I have to go."

"Clarke…" Bellamy said reaching for her again, but she was already spinning away, walking quickly toward her car and freedom. He didn't follow, but as she drove out of the lot, she could see him in her rear view mirror, standing alone where she'd left him and staring after her.

It was such and odd occurrence, so different from their usual encounters, that she almost couldn't believe that it had actually happened. Then again, this whole day had been full of strange, and mostly painful encounters, so maybe it was just something in the atmosphere. One thing was for certain; she couldn't dwell on it. There wasn't anymore space left inside her head at the moment, so she turned on the radio and spent the rest of the drive into the city alternately crying and singing to make herself feel better.

By the time she arrived at the loft, her eyes were red and puffy and she was certain that her makeup was a mess, so she was thankful that she managed to make it inside without anyone seeing her, but just as she was about to pour herself a glass of wine and run a bath, her cell phone rang.

Clarke thought about letting it go to voice mail, but in the end, she glanced at the caller ID, saw that it was Octavia, and couldn't bring herself to ignore it.

"Hey," Clarke said, plopping down on a bar stool and filling a wine glass to the brim. "How did telling Linc's parents go?"

"It went great!" Octavia said with a little squeal. "We just got back actually and I couldn't wait to tell someone about it…" she said, embarking on a fifteen minute conversation about how beautiful dinner was and how nice Lincoln's parents were to her before she stopped long enough for Clarke to speak again.

"That's wonderful," Clarke said as she sipped at her glass. In truth she was a little surprised that Lincoln's parents had been so accepting of the situation. They weren't exactly known for being open minded, or at least not from the way Lincoln always spoke about them. But then again, people often perceive their parents much differently than they actually are.

Sometimes it's hard to see that your parents are people too after years of seeing them only as authority figures. Not that she thought Lincoln was wrong either. You could see just from the Senator's politics and his wife's charity work that they were very conservative in their views.

It seemed unlikely that they would have so quickly capitulated to their only son, whom they'd always been very protective of, marrying someone who's background would be deemed "colorful" by people like Linc's parents, or her own mother. Clarke was happy that Octavia was so happy, but a part of her mind, the suspicious part, began to wonder why things had gone so smoothly.

"Yeah it was great!" Octavia said again with so much enthusiasm that Clarke couldn't help but smile. "We'll tell you all about it at dinner tomorrow."

"Oh okay. I have to work until seven," she reminded Octavia as she rinsed her glass and walked toward the bathroom.

"That's cool. So does Bellamy."

"Bellamy?" Clarke stuttered as she stopped dead in her tracks. She played back their conversation in her head and tried to figure out how to make any kind of sense out of the sudden insertion of Bellamy, but she couldn't. Clearly she'd missed something along the way.

"Yeah…" Octavia said awkwardly, and Clarke could hear Lincoln's voice in the background before she rushed on. "I invited Bellamy too because, well we need to tell him and I thought he might take it better if we did it over dinner. In public," she clarified before falling silent.

"Right, well as it turns out I have to have my spleen removed tomorrow after work so I'm not going to be able to make it." Clarke dead panned.

"Oh come on Clarke. Please," she said drawing out her plea like little kid. Clarke pictured her stamping her foot and almost laughed… almost.

"Octavia I really feel like you should tell your brother about this on your own," Clarke said with a sigh. "I mean, if you think he's not going to take it well," and that was the understatement of the century, Clarke thought, "you should probably do it at home… where he can only break his own things," she finished with a half hearted laugh.

"No, Lincoln wants to do this together. Bellamy already knows we're dating. It's going to be fine," Octavia said, but Clarke could hear the uneasiness in her voice.

"Well if it's going to be fine why do you need me there? Couldn't we just have dinner together on another night? You guys aren't eloping to Vegas or anything so we have plenty of time to talk about the wedding later." Clarke desperately didn't want to get in the middle of whatever blow out Bellamy and Octavia were about to have, and while she loved Lincoln and wanted the best for both of them, she couldn't see their announcement going over well with Octavia's insanely overprotective brother.

"We just thought," again she heard Lincoln in the background. "Okay I just thought," obviously clarifying that Lincoln wanted no part in this, "that Bellamy wouldn't act like such an idiot if you were there because of how the two of you are."

"What do you mean how we are? We literally never get along or agree on anything," Clarke said, trying to push memories of Bellamy's warm fingers grasping her elbow out of her head. There was something familiar about his touch that had unsettled her, and she desperately didn't want to think about it at the moment.

"Well I think he might be embarrassed to act like a lunatic in front of you."

"I can assure you that Bellamy will act exactly like Bellamy regardless of whether I'm there or not." Clarke said in exasperation. Her already frayed nerves couldn't take a dinner date from hell with Bellamy. Not today, not tomorrow, preferably not ever!

"Oh Clarke, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have even asked you to do this," Octavia said and sighed.

The melancholy in her voice was in such contrast to her earlier jubilation that Clarke felt her heart squeeze painfully with regret. As a friend she should be doing all she could to make Lincoln and Octavia's announcement as joyous as possible and if that meant sitting at a table with Bellamy while they broke the news, it was really the least she could do. That realization did nothing to quell her nervousness, nor did it change her opinion of how Bellamy would react regardless of her being there, but it gave her the courage to bite the bullet and commit the dinner.

"I will come," Clarke said in defeat, "but if things get really bad I'm leaving!"

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Octavia squealed.

"Tell me when and where," Clarke said with a sigh.

When she was finished with the details, Octavia ended the call and Clarke realized that she was still standing in the hallway where she'd stopped in the middle of heading for the bath. Rather than continuing on, she turned around and headed straight back to the kitchen for another glass of wine. One was definitely not going to be enough to push thoughts of tomorrow's impending disaster out of her mind long enough for her to fall asleep!

 **END NOTES:**

So, after the last chapter I was pretty discouraged with this story as you might have been able to tell from the angry A/N at the end. In hindsight, I regret leaving that note and will probably edit it in the future. Taking a break seemed like a good idea at that time, however, I had no intention of fully abandoning this story. Unfortunately, life had other plans for me.

Lets just suffice to say that I had a significant medical event. I spent the better part of a month in the hospital shortly following my last post, and I have wasted the last year and a half recovering. During that time, I had no interest in writing, I had no interest in a lot of things to be honest, but a few months ago I was finally released to go back to work and I'm trying to get back into the groove of things. I would like to return to as much normality as I can and I hope this story, however silly it might seem, can help me do that.

That being said, it has been a long time and I am legitimately worried about the continuity of this fic. In addition, I'm also concerned about the tone changing, as I myself have changed. I had written a little ahead before everything happened, as I am used to doing in all of my work, so hopefully there won't be an abrupt change between last chapter and the rest of the story, but I can't promise anything.

If I'm being truthful, I didn't watch the latest season of The 100 for a long time (for a multitude of reasons) and when I did finally see it, I was more interest in the relationship between Roan and Clarke than Bellamy and Clarke. I know, I know! Please don't hate me! I haven't left the Bellarke fandom, I promise, although I might write a separate fic for all of my King Roan ideas! Not now though. For now, I am going to try to finish this one. The only reason that I mention the TV series at all with this being a strictly AU fic, is that I do draw inspiration from the show (obviously) and I'm not sure how this new development will flavor my writing. I don't want to say that I've fallen out of love with Bellarke, but I've certainly flirted with other fandoms!

I'm sure many of you have figured out by now that this is a beast of a story and while I've mapped out the broad strokes, I still have a ways to go before we reach the end. If any of you are wondering what to expect from this fic or trying to figure out if you should still be here, I have only one thing to say. Slow burn. I can't say it enough. There will be hit and miss romantic encounters, and I've never exactly shied away from smut, but you should not be reading this expecting to dive right into bed with them. Most of you probably know that by now, but for those of you who are new, I very much enjoy relationship dynamics between my characters and have no immediate plans to turn this into lemon city. Also, be aware that there are small time jumps in our future and several flashback style scenes that may be different than you are used to reading in my particular writing. Most of these things have been planned from the beginning. I very rarely write anything without a clear idea of where I'm going, but just know that they will be happening and try not to over think it.

As for what you can expect from me... I don't really know. I still do physical therapy four times a week and have a lot of things left to overcome. I still have a job and a family and I can't be certain that my writing speed will be what it was before all of this happened, but I'm hopeful about what progress I can make. A lot of where we go from here will depend on feedback from you. This story is a labor of love and I originally set out writing it as a way to improve myself, so I doubt I will every stop writing it completely, but there is no reason to update a dead fic on this, or any other website.

Again, if the tone of this story changes abruptly or there is far more angst that you remember, I am sorry. I've been to some pretty dark places in the past year and I'm sure that the on and off writing I've done since my last update will reflect that. I hope that the story will evolve naturally, as there was always going to be a darker side to this tale, but I am worried that I may lose some people along the way if we travel too deep inside what the human brain can be like when you are depressed. So... it's going to bleak for a bit, that was always part of the plan, but I will try to bring as much levity as possible when the story allows for it.

Thank you for reading this, thank you for staying with me and prepare yourself for turbulence!


	8. Hell's Kitchen

Like the worst case of deja vu, Clarke stepped out of her car to the smell of warm asphalt and another slate gray sky. The weather forecast called for rain, so Clarke was carrying an umbrella as well as her most fashionable black clutch as she made her way into the prison, trying to ignore the sense of foreboding that had plagued her since speaking with Octavia.

Perhaps it would have been easier to wear less formal clothes to work and then rush back to the loft to change before dinner, or even change at the prison, but something always seemed to hold her up on the days she was in a hurry to leave and the idea of taking her clothes off anywhere inside the prison gave her the creeps, so she'd settled on wearing clothes too casual to wear to a fancy dinner and too formal to really be wearing to work, effectively failing at dressing for both situations.

To say that she wasn't in the best of moods was an understatement. There were too many things running around inside her head for her to be able to concentrate on anything for very long and she was irrationally frustrated with her inability to put everyone's not so subtle stares out of her mind.

When she walked in, Clarke could practically hear the frantic workings of the gossip mill churning out a new story about her outfit, but she told herself she didn't care. The tight pencil skirt came to just below her knees, the black fabric emphasizing the bold framed black glasses she was wearing along with an neat chignon that drew attention to her neck rather than her face. Her outfit was completely acceptable in every way, and the turquoise blouse added a fun pop of color that she definitely wasn't feeling today, but she was afraid if she showed up to dinner in an outfit that actually reflected her mood, Octavia and Lincoln might be offended. Also, they probably didn't make dresses out of raised middle fingers and pure rage, so she was out of luck either way.

Walking through the halls with her heels clicking on the tiled floors garnered more stares, some subtle, some much less so, and she felt them all. Last night after her bath, Clarke had tried desperately to think of a good excuse to call Octavia back and cancel, but she just couldn't. No matter how many times she tried to talk herself out of going, she couldn't quite push away her sense of duty when it came to Lincoln. He was a good friend, an old friend, and she knew that if the situations were reversed, he'd do the same for her without hesitation.

There was nothing for it, but to grit her teeth and soldier on. Clarke tried not to glare at people as she made her way to her office, but judging by the expressions of people she passed, she wasn't quite achieving it. Making a spectacle of herself, as per usual, she thought angrily, as she shoved her key in the lock and swept into her office.

No more had she put her umbrella down than a knock sounded on her door. With a sigh, Clarke opened it, and blanched when she saw Bellamy on the other side. He was exactly who she didn't want to see. Octavia hadn't told her if Bellamy knew she was coming to dinner with them or not and she really didn't want to have to tell him awkward lies about the reason for their mutual abrupt dinner invitation, but she wasn't about to tell him the truth either. Basically this was an early morning doomsday scenario all set to play out in the comfy confines of her office.

Cursing Octavia to the darkest pits of hell for putting her in this situation, Clarke forced a smile and stepped aside for him to enter. After a moment, she noticed that he wasn't moving. In fact he was staring at her very oddly, taking in her appearance from head to toe, once, twice and then again a third time before clearing his throat.

"Well?" she asked impatiently, trying to figure out why he was just standing there gawking at her, but unable to come up with anything save a traumatic brain injury that the human resources department had somehow missed during his interview.

"Oh, um," he said awkwardly as he walked passed her and took a seat without being asked. "I just wanted to talk to you about what happened yesterday," he said, regaining some semblance of his usual self as she sat down across the desk from him.

"Oh, you talked to Octavia then," Clarke tried to say calmly, but her mind immediately went into panic mode. Octavia must have said something to him about the dinner that made him suspicious and now he was going to try pumping her for information! Bellamy was too perceptive to be easily fooled by her clumsy lies. She was so screwed, she thought, desperately trying to remain casual while all of her nerves fizzled and popped in anticipation of the worst.

"What? No. I meant yesterday… after your shift… in the parking lot," he said looking at her as if she'd grown another head.

"Oh, of course," Clarke said and relief rushed through her chest like a tsunami as she sighed and started looking through things on her desk. There was nothing to find amongst the notes and file folders scattered there, but anything that would keep her eyes away from his seemed like a good thing. She wasn't a great liar at the best of times, but when her nerves were all frazzled like today, she was even worse and Clarke was positive that if she looked at him, Bellamy would be able to see right through her. "So, um… what was it that you wanted to say?"

"I was going to tell you that I looked through all of the logs and watched some of the footage from the past few weeks and I think I have narrowed down the list of men who could potentially have attacked Charlotte to three," he said and unwillingly, Clarke's eyes flew to his.

She felt like such a jerk for being so caught up in her own drama that she'd almost forgotten about Charlotte! What kind of person does that? A horrible one, Clarke thought as she rubbed her forehead and tried to organize her thoughts.

"I wanted to speak to you about that also, actually," Clarke said looking down again. "Yesterday, after they photographed Charlotte's… injuries," she said stumbling over the word as images of bite marks and bruises filtered through her mind, "someone left a note for me on copies of the photographs."

Clarke noticed the way his body tensed up when she spoke about the photos and wondered if he too was having a hard time getting them out of his head.

"What kind of note?" Bellamy asked.

"It was just an anonymous note that indicated that Cage Wallace was the guard who accompanied Charlotte to and from her treatments and stayed on guard when she was kept overnight in medical. I think he is the one who did this," Clarke said with conviction.

"That's a very serious accusation and you seem pretty certain," Bellamy said studying her with blank, calculating eyes. "Mind telling me why?"

"Cage has more complaints against him than anyone else in the prison," Clarke said fiercely.

"That doesn't make him a rapist," Bellamy pointed out calmly.

"He is a total creep and none of the women who work here like him." Clarke was staring daggers at him, but he didn't seem phased by it.

"That makes him an asshole, but not a rapist," Bellamy said just as calmly as before.

"Well he is a despicable human being that likes to make people feel powerless and I'm pretty sure he cheats on his wife. He lies about investigations and I've even heard people talking about him making deals with the inmates!" Clarke was so furious with Bellamy for not believing her that she wanted to slam her fist down on the desk, or his face, but she didn't. Instead she took a deep breath and tried to reign in her temper, repeating in her mind that she needed to keep her observations clinical for Charlotte's sake.

"All of that might be true, but it still doesn't make him a rapist Clarke," Bellamy said quietly, studying her red face impassively. He was so frustratingly calm that Clarke wanted to scream, but he was also right. None of those things made Cage a rapist.

"Well why don't you just watch the camera feeds then? Surely they will have enough evidence to prove he's the one who did this!"

"I have watched them actually. All of them. And Cage _is_ under suspicion, but contrary to popular belief, we don't film every inch of the prison. In fact, we film very little of it." Bellamy frowned down at his lap as he said it, and Clarke could only stare at him in confusion.

"What do you mean? There are cameras everywhere!" Clarke blurted, shocked by his confession. With a sigh, Bellamy sat forward, running his hands across his face and through his thick messy hair, mussing it up in a way that might have been adorable on someone else under different circumstances.

"Clarke, a lot of those cameras don't even work. We tell the inmates they do because believing someone is watching makes them think twice about pulling anything but the truth is, large portions of the prison aren't filmed and a guard would know those areas well enough to exploit them." Bellamy looked up at her and for the first time, Clarke noticed the dark circles under his eyes. Perhaps she wasn't the only one losing sleep around here.

"You're right about the guards making deals with inmates too, hell, I have promised a few things myself if it meant getting results, but unfortunately for all of us, someone has leaked information about the cameras to some of the inmates in return for something I can't even begin to imagine. Thats why things like what happened with Murphy happen without anyone being the wiser." His face looked dark and Clarke knew without it having to be said that the problem that she'd all but forgotten about after the news of Charlotte's attack, was still very much on his mind. Murphy might not exactly be his friend, but Bellamy would try to keep him safe all the same.

"I'm sorry about Murphy, Captain. I know that you two are…" she trailed off not quite sure how to say it without causing offense. "Well maybe not close, but I know that he was one of your guys and I'm sure it chafes not being able to help him more." In fact, it bothered her too. She hadn't been able to protect him, even from himself, she thought darkly, remembering well the panic she'd felt when she heard of his suicide attempt.

"It is what it is," Bellamy said, obviously not wanting to talk about it anymore. "The cameras only film about 45% of the entire complex and most of those places are high traffic areas where things like this don't happen. I'm afraid that video evidence alone isn't going to solve this."

It took her a moment to wrap her mind around this new information, but once she started thinking about it, really thinking about it, it made sense. She'd been inside the guard booths, she knew that the monitors didn't show the whole prison, but she'd always just assumed that the video feed switched from section to section depending on where the guards were monitoring. It had never occurred to her that some of the cameras didn't work or were fakes, but it wasn't exactly out of the realm of imagination. The prison was on the verge of financial ruin at any given moment and it would have been insanely expensive to have that much working video equipment not to mention the amount of guards they would need to watch all of it.

"So… what parts have been filmed?" Clarke asked softly, terrified that he was going to tell her that not one single camera had caught Cage on film with Charlotte.

"Not enough," he said, obviously understanding her real question. "I have him in a few hallways with her, and one that shows him going into a room with her, but it isn't enough. Not enough to make something happen. Like I said before, he's one of three that could possibly have done it. I have just as much video footage of the others as I do him. It would be impossible to press charges with so little evidence Clarke. And even if we tried, any smart attorney would point out that the inmates know as much about the cameras not working as most of the guards, so you have to consider all of them as well and they are already convicted criminals. A convicted rapist raping someone sells a whole lot better to a jury than a father of two with wife and a white picket fence."

"Then what do we do?" she asked, not liking the defeat she saw written all over his face. "You can't just give up!"

"I have no intention of giving up, but this has to be done smart, not fast. I'm sorry that it bothers you this much, it bothers me too, but for now, we just have to stay calm and not do anything irrational," he said eyeing her speculatively.

"I'm not going to do anything stupid," Clarke said indignantly.

"You're right. You aren't going to do anything." Bellamy's voice as firm and held up his hands when he saw Clarke start to say something. "I didn't mean it like that. Don't get angry," he said and smiled at her. She only glared back. "What I mean is, it can't look like you are working against Cage. If he _is_ the one who did this, and I'm not saying I don't believe you," he added, forestalling any argument. "You're a smart woman and I trust your intuition, but if he _is_ the one who did this, he will see you nosing around and he'll bury any evidence against him so fast and so deep that we'll never be able to find it. As of this moment, I'm the only guard who knows about what happened and I'd like to keep it that way for as long as possible."

Clarke stopped for a moment and actually thought about what he was saying. He had a point. She had no business investigating anything that happened in this building and she certainly didn't want to tip Cage off to the fact that she _knew_ he was the one who did this.

There were a ton of reasons for her to stay out of it, like ruining Charlotte's chances of seeing justice done, but also, the fact that it could be dangerous. If he was willing to rape Charlotte in a building full of people, what else was he capable of? Just thinking of it sent a shiver down Clarke's spine and for a moment she felt lost and very much alone in a building full of enemies.

"Clarke," Bellamy said, his deep baritone drawing her eyes to his. "Nothing is going to happen to you. Do you understand?"

His voice and expression were as serious as she'd ever seen them, but her mind was having a hard time figuring out what exactly he was trying to tell her. Their whole conversation had gotten a little strange actually. At some point, she was almost certain he'd complimented her which didn't seem at all like something Bellamy would normally do and now it almost sounding like he was offering her his protection.

"Clarke," Bellamy said again, finding her eyes and holding them. "I won't let anything happen to you. You don't have to worry about Cage doing… anything."

His voice faltered a little at the last and she noted that he seemed uncomfortable with voicing any specific violence towards her, but Clarke couldn't think of an appropriate response to anything he'd just said.

"Oh." She stared at him stupidly for what seemed like a long time, but he stayed silent as well. Definitely the weirdest conversation she'd ever had, Clarke decided while her brain struggled to form a more coherent reply. "Well… okay." She felt her face flood with heat and wondered if she looked like as much of an idiot as she sounded.

"Now," he said sitting back in his chair and reverting to his standard blank face. "What is going on with Octavia?"

Shit! She'd been hoping that he'd forgotten about her little slip, but it had been a stupid wish. Of course Bellamy hadn't forgotten. He was just waiting until _she'd_ forgotten so that he could spring his questions on her when she was distracted! While she scrambled for something to say that wouldn't make the situation worse, Bellamy studied her reaction passively.

"You look very nice today, Clarke," he said casually, as if they'd been talking about her outfit the entire time.

"Uh… um… thanks?" Realizing too late that her voice went up at the end making her statement sound like a question, Clarke cleared her throat and tried again. "I mean… thank you Captain." If her face hadn't been as red as it could be before, it certainly was now! _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ She just kept saying it over and over in her head as she tried to look as nonchalant as any human being could. Blank face was her friend, but she knew she probably wasn't managing it.

"Well, I have things to do," he said, gracefully rising from his chair. "I'll see you this evening." And with that, Bellamy was out the door without another word.

Clarke sat back in her seat with a sigh of relief, wondering exactly what the hell had just happened to her. For a moment, she'd been certain it was over and she thought that she was going to be the one that revealed his sister's engagement, but then he'd just gotten up and left! While she was thankful for the reprieve, his sudden departure left her on pins and needles. And he'd said he would see her later this evening… did that mean that he knew they'd be having dinner together? Jesus… maybe he knew everything and he was just saving his anger for Lincoln!

Picking up her clutch, Clarke fished her cell phone out and pulled up Lincoln's number. Before she could figure out what exact warning she wanted to give him, another knock sounded on her door.

"Come in," she said, dreading that Bellamy had returned to finish his inquisition, but it was only Wells. "Oh hey, come in." Clarke offered him a small smile as she sat her phone down without sending anything.

"Ka-Pow!" he said emphatically, beaming at her. "I heard that you were all dressed up today, but I thought they were exaggerating.

"You thought who was exaggerating? Jesus Wells, I just got here. How can there _already_ be gossip about me?" Clarke asked throwing her hands up in the air for emphasis.

"Calm down Clarke, I was just kidding. I mean, not about the part about hearing you were dressed up, but you know…"

"No I don't know," she said using air quotations. "Literally the only thing you've said is that someone told you I was dressed up. If you weren't kidding about that what were you kidding about? Why is this whole day so confusing already?"

"What is confusing about it? Other than what I just said?" he asked raising an eyebrow at her.

Dammit! She'd done it again! Really, there was no point in wearing shoes since her feet were just going to always end up in her mouth anyway.

"That's not what I meant. Look I just have a lot of stuff going on okay? This thing with Charlotte is awful and I can't stop thinking about it. Lincoln and Octavia are getting married and they want me to have dinner with them tonight which is going to be awful. I wore these clothes so I wouldn't be late but they look too much like work clothes for dinner and too much like dinner clothes for work so I just look like a huge asshole apparently and I'm about to lose my damn mind!" Clarke stopped… realizing that her word vomit had just totally screwed her.

"You look beautiful Clarke, just like you always do," Wells said gently, and smiled when she rolled her eyes at him.

"You would say that even if I were wearing a burlap sack."

"I don't lie to you Clarke." There was so much sincerity in his voice that Clarke nearly teared up. He was right, to her knowledge, Wells never lied to her about anything. Even the things that hurt.

"I know you don't. I'm sorry," she said reaching across the desk for his hand. "It's been a bad week… for everyone," she added, releasing him to sit back in her chair.

"Not for Lincoln and Octavia apparently." Wells' voice was playful, his eyes sparkling as he watched her squirm. "I'll have to send them a bottle of champaign."

"Oh god… don't tell anyone. It's supposed to be a secret!"

"Is that why you're all dressed up today? To help keep the secret? It seems a little counterintuitive to be honest." Wells smiled when she glared at him, completely undaunted by her temper.

"No I'm dressed up because we were supposed to be having a celebratory dinner tonight, but instead Octavia decided to invite her brother so that she could break the news to him in a public place where he will be less likely to strangle someone." Wells' eyebrows nearly shot off his face, but he started laughing. "It's not funny! Bellamy may kill Lincoln tonight," she said seriously.

"Well I know you're very fond of him, but maybe…" Clarke cut him off by throwing a paper clip at him. "I'm just saying, maybe it won't be as bad as you think."

"I wish I had your optimism," Clarke said dejectedly. "Just make sure you keep your mouth shut. Bellamy is already suspicious and I don't even think he knows I'm going to dinner with them tonight!"

Wells made a zipper motion over his lips, but she could tell that he was still holding back laughter.

"It's going to be a disaster. You know it, I know it. Let's talk about something else. Like why you actually came to see me?" Clarke tried to get back to business before she said something else stupid, but knowing herself, she wasn't going to hold her breath.

"Yes," Wells said, adopting a much more serious face. "I've spoken with Charlotte. Well, I've spoken at her. I'm not sure that she's really listening or letting any of this sink in. I just wanted to get your thoughts on all of it. She seems very fond of you. Well from what little I've gotten out of her, that is," Wells said sadly. Clarke knew it bothered him when he couldn't help ease someone's suffering, and she immediately felt bad for once again prioritizing her own problems above anyone else's.

"I think she's scared," Clarke said soberly. "She's still trying to process all of this. I mean Jesus, Wells, she's still just a kid!"

"I know. I've read her file. I know about the fire," he said frowning. "She's been dealt a bad hand and I want to help her, but I'm afraid that she'll never open up enough to me for that to happen. I wish we had a female psychiatrist on staff. She might be more willing to speak with another woman, after… well after what she's been through."

"You will find a way to help her Wells," Clarke said seriously. "I know you will."

"I wish I had your optimism," he parroted back at her with a small smile, earning himself another eye roll. "I've thought about hypnosis. It can, sometimes, be helpful if the victim is unwilling or unable to revisit the event out loud with someone else. If we could get that information and prosecute who did this quickly, remove the threat once and for all so that she can start to heal, she might be less afraid to speak with us and more open to the idea of therapy in general. Talking about it could be cathartic even if she doesn't realize she's doing it."

Clarke frowned at Wells. It wasn't like him to suggest something that didn't have a very solid foundation in medical or scientific fact and she was almost positive he'd never suggested something like this with a patient before. Forcing someone to relive trauma against their will wasn't really his style and she was surprised that he'd even consider it. But then, Wells was probably just as upset about this as everyone else and he was looking for a solution too.

It was hard to look at Charlotte and not feel pity and want justice for her no matter how biased, sexist, or unfair that was to the other inmates. Everything about Charlotte seemed pure and achingly fragile. One look at her and you wanted to protect her, wanted to save her from the harsher side of life. It was as involuntary as breathing.

They all wanted to help her, and Wells perhaps more than anyone because he was the one who would be talking her through this, reliving it with her if it got to that point. Something like that had to take a toll on a person, even one as level headed and centered as Wells.

If finding the perpetrator and getting him away from her could bring Charlotte even a modicum of peace or in any way help her get over the trauma, they, all of them, would do everything they could to find him and catch him, but after talking to Bellamy, she had a lot less hope that someone would actually go down for this crime. Even if Charlotte did eventually tell someone who her attacker was, it would be her word against his and like Bellamy said, who was going to believe a convicted felon over an upstanding citizen like Cage?

Clarke thought about telling Wells about her suspicions against Cage, thinking it might spark some idea in his mind that might help Charlotte, but Bellamy's warning not to go poking around remained clearly in her mind. Even if she did tell Wells, and even if he did believe her, if a court found out about it, they could say that Wells' was leading Charlotte in their therapy sessions, forcing a false accusation or whatever the legal jargon for that was.

It could be disastrous not only in court, but also to Charlotte. If she named her attacker only to have her testimony thrown back in her face like it was a lie, it was sure to cause a great deal of psychological harm. Maybe even physical harm if Cage found out that she told someone.

"I'm not sure Wells. I trust that you will do what is best for her. I can help her physically, but you're the expert here. I don't know anything about that type of therapy," Clarke said with a frown. Lying and keeping secrets wasn't something she was comfortable with. If Bellamy didn't kill anyone tonight, she'd ask him about bringing Wells into the loop. It might be beneficial to Charlotte's therapy for Wells to have some idea about what was going on even if he could never voice it in therapy sessions with Charlotte.

"It's amazing how much you believe in me," Well said with a soft smile.

"Only as much as you've always believed in me." Clarke stood and rounded the desk reaching for her lab coat as she went. There was nothing more to be done now, and she needed to get to work if only to take her mind off of everything else.

"Let me know how dinner and the murdering goes," Wells said and laughed when she glared at him. "We work opposite shifts the next few days don't we?" he asked as he opened the door for both of them.

"Yeah I think so. I'm off tomorrow though," she added, straightening her collar.

"Not me." Wells sighed deep enough that she could feel his exhaustion all the way across the room and concern bloomed in her chest.

"You need a break Wells. I'm worried about you." They were side by side now and Clarke looked at him with a seriousness usually reserved only for the most dire of circumstances.

"I just got back from vacation," he said playfully, attempting to ruffle her hair, but she batted his hand away with another glare. If she left her office with even one hair out of place, someone would say they were in here having sex or something equally as stupid and that was the last thing she needed.

"I guess I'll see you when I see you." Wells was still smiling, probably thinking the same exact thing as he eyed her perfectly coiffed hair. She saw his hand twitch toward her and then stop, and wanted to laugh at him. In some ways, he was still the same dorky kid she'd grown up with, only now, he was hiding inside an adult's body.

"Yep," she said and dropped a quick kiss on his cheek before stepping into the hallway.

All things considered, she was in a better mood than she had been when she came in. Wells had a way of turning her days around that was almost uncanny. As she walked away, Clarke made a mental note to invite him down to the ranch soon, that way she could get to know Callie better. Wells would love that. And she still needed to interview some candidates for the new horse handler anyway so she'd be killing two birds with one stone.

Indra had done great work narrowing down the list of potentials, and Clarke had stayed abreast of her progress, but she knew that Indra would never decide on anyone without her there to approve it. Clarke just hoped that she'd be able to tell which was Indra's favorite without being able to ask, because she was almost positive Indra would never give her a straight answer about it if asked directly which one she preferred, and Clarke wanted very much to choose the one that Indra would be most comfortable with.

Keeping that thought in the back of her mind, Clarke set off for the nurses station, trapped in a paradox of wanting the day to be over and wishing that it would last forever.

At seven o'clock sharp, Clarke hung up her lab coat, grabbed her purse out of the desk and picked up her umbrella. Her feet hurt from wearing heels all day and she was nervous about dinner, but overall she'd had a very productive day and that always made her feel more sure of herself. Work, even monotonous work, could be soothing in times of stress.

When she made it outside, the sky was more black than gray and sheets of rain were sluicing down at an angle that would make it impossible to keep all of her outfit dry. With a resigned sigh, Clarke opened her umbrella and braced herself for the rain.

Two steps into the parking lot, a sudden gust of wind turned her umbrella inside out and she was drenched in seconds.

Stopping dead in her tracks, Clarke stared down at the mangled umbrella as if it had purposely betrayed her. Sometimes her luck was just terrible and apparently life had chosen today to try her patience.

Over the roaring wind, she could hear someone behind her laughing. Whipping around, Clarke saw Bellamy walking towards her with a huge grin on his face.

"You're soaked Doc," Bellamy said casually as he stopped in front of her. "Should have brought an umbrella," he added with another grin.

Clarke thought very hard about hitting him with the remnants of her umbrella, but reminded herself at the last second that she wanted him to be in a good mood. If he was in a good mood, maybe he wouldn't kill Lincoln, or throw any chairs across the restaurant. Maybe.

"You're right," she said through gritted teeth as rain ran down her collar and pooled in her shoes. "How silly of me," she added, forcefully cramming the umbrella back into a more manageable shape as she spoke.

Just as she was about to turn away, another gust of wind caught the broken limbs of the umbrella, jerking it out of her hand and sending it flying a dozen yards into the surrounding forest.

Clarke thought about stamping her foot and screaming. She thought about walking calmly after her umbrella. She also thought about breaking an ankle in the woods just so she could get out of going to dinner, but in the end, she decided just to get in her car and drive to the loft. If she hurried, she might not even be all that late.

"Clarke, wait," Bellamy called over the sound of the wind and the rain. He caught up with her just as she was unlocking her car. "Are you seriously going to drive in this weather? There are tornado warnings!"

"If I see a tornado I'll call and let you know." With that quip, shouted over the wind, Clarke climbed in her car, shutting the door on whatever he was about to say next. To her surprise, seconds later Bellamy opened the passenger's side door and slid in beside her.

"You're car is tiny," he said, trying to fold his long legs between the seat and the dash.

"Well then why don't you use your own vehicle Bellamy?" Clarke asked sarcastically. She was soaked to the bone, minus one umbrella, and tired of trying to figure out what his problem was today.

"You can't drive this… this car," Bellamy said, obviously trying not to say anything else negative about her vehicle. Apparently it was very hard for him. "You'll get blown all over the road!"

"That's illogical. High profile vehicles and ridiculously large trucks catch more wind than compact cars. They also are more prone to flipping. I'll be just fine." She started the engine and then turned to glare at him. Dinner be damned, if he didn't get out of her car soon, she was going to find something better than the umbrella to hit him with!

"Clarke, seriously," he said running his hand through his wet hair, inadvertently sprinkling her with more water. "Why do you have to be so stubborn?"

"I'm… what… you," she stammered, too angry to speak.

Bellamy shot her a look, and then burst out laughing. She glared so hard it felt like her eyes crossed and then she started smacking him, shoulders, arms, wherever she could reach, all the while cursing him and the weather and anything else she could think of that had ruined her day. Bellamy brought up his hands to ward off the worst of it, but he never stopped laughing and the more he laughed the angrier she got.

"You are so annoying! Always peacocking around, acting all smug like you know everything, with your tight shirts and stupid muscles and…"

"Wait, you think about my muscles?" he said peeking at her between his raised hands.

"Oh my god! Get out of my car, Bellamy," she screeched swatting him with renewed vigor.

She wouldn't think about the conclusions he would inevitably draw from her inelegant rant, she told herself the whole time she was trying to force him from her car. If she stopped to think about what she'd just said, out loud, to Bellamy Blake of all people, she'd have to slither under her seat and disappear into whatever dimension bottle caps went to when you dropped them in your car.

"No, wait. I'm sort of offended. I don't wear tight shirts." Bellamy ducked as she launched herself at him. "Now look Clark." He caught hold of her and was trying to restrain her flailing limbs with little success. "This is no way for a lady like you to act. It's undignified," he said squeezing her arms to her sides. "What would your mother think?"

"I don't give a damn what my mother thinks! You let me go right now Bellamy Blake or I swear to god…" She stopped, struggling against his grip with such fury that she couldn't even complete her sentence.

"I'm not the one sitting on my lap," he said smirking down at her.

In an instant, Clarke went absolutely still and took stock of her situation. Her chest was heaving with labored breaths, her face felt like it was holding the heat of the actual sun, and she could feel pieces of hair glued to her face; and not in a sexy rom-com sort of way. God only knew what her makeup looked like! It was time to end this.

"Let me go," she said through gritted teeth.

"Are you going to stop hitting me?" he asked, not letting go, but loosening his grip.

"Maybe." She fought back the urge to strangle him, but only just. "You are making us both look ridiculous. This is inappropriate."

"No one can see anything in this storm." His voice was deep and soothing as he helped her sit up. Somewhere along the way, her legs and gotten all tangled up with his and trying to untangle them was going to be very awkward. "Now listen," Bellamy said, in a maddeningly calm voice. "We are both going to the same place," he stated matter-of-factly and she gasped.

He'd known all along! She knew it!

"I can only guess since my sister invited you too, that she is going to tell me something that I won't like hearing and she thinks, mistakenly," he added frowning down at her, "that your presence will in some way make me less likely to kill someone."

"Could you get out of my car already," Clarke asked as she struggled to get back into the drivers seat without ripping anything, but only really managed to work herself closer to the floorboard.

"Now…" Bellamy ignored her struggles as he effortlessly hoisted her more securely into his lap. "The way I see it, you need to change before we go, but you can't drive back to the city with this weather and in this…"

"Car, it's a car!" she yelled.

"Right, car," he said nonplussed. "So… you should just come with me and we will stop by your place so you can change on the way."

"Absolutely not." Her voice rose with every syllable. "I'm not going anywhere with you Bellamy Blake and if you don't get out of my car _right now_ , I'm going to be the one doing the murdering!"

"You know Clarke, this temper you have is unhealthy. Maybe you should talk to Jaha about it. Work out your issues." The smile he gave her suggested that he'd just revealed something very important, something that had never been revealed before in all of human history, like that the earth was round or that the sun was hot, and Clarke was afraid that she might actually kill Octavia's brother before she got the chance to tell him she was engaged.

"The only thing that is going to be unhealthy is your dead body when I get out of this car," Clarke said, jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

"So now _you_ want out of the…" he paused looking around the interior.

" _CAR!_ " Clarke yelled.

"Right, car," he said without the barest hint of a smile. "So you want out too. That's perfect," he said and threw open the door, letting in a bucket of water as he stepped out with her in his arms.

"Bellamy," she screeched, both clinging to him for fear of being dropped and trying to struggle away so he'd put her down.

"You're like trying to hold onto a greased pig." With that insulting statement out of the way, he slammed the car door with his foot and set off across the parking lot.

"Did you just call me a pig?!" she asked glaring up at him, but resigned to clinging to him until they were somewhere she could more easily escape.

"A greased one," he replied smiling down at her as rain water dripped off his face and into hers.

"I hate you." Her voice was bitter and her scowl dark, but he only nodded.

"I know." The statement was simple, his voice quiet, and for some reason, his tone made her feel bad for having said it. For just a moment he'd sounded so serious and so hurt.

The personality roller coaster he'd put them both on today was giving her whip lash and she was more than ready to get off of it. One minute he was cold, collected, Captain Bellamy Blake and the next he was some playful, overgrown, little boy with freckles on his nose and a charming smile, an adorable man child that got his feelings hurt too easily. The world must have turned upside down when she wasn't paying attention.

Opening up the passenger side door of his truck, Bellamy tossed her in and slammed it before she could even think of escaping. In a flash he was in the driver's seat, engine started and putting it in gear.

"Kidnapping is a felony you know," Clarke said grumpily, still trying to decide if she was angry because his suggestion about arriving together made sense or if she was actually just angry with him for being him.

On the one hand, he was clearly trying very hard not to be a jerk and she'd just spent the last five minutes alternately screaming or trying to beat him to death, so he had every reason to be a jerk. On the other, he had treated her like some dumb girl that couldn't even manage driving on her own, manhandled her, and completely ignored her wishes. Did it still make it awful if his motives were good?

"Good thing I know all about the prison system then huh?" He smoothly merged onto the interstate, not even a hint of hesitation in the way he handle the truck despite the gale force winds that were whipping the trees on either side of them.

For awhile they were both silent. Bellamy was watching the road and trying to carefully navigate the storm which, if she was being honest, was pretty bad, and she was taking turns frowning at him and frowning out the window.

"You're going to give yourself a headache glaring at everything like that," he commented placidly.

Clarke couldn't think of a comeback. He was probably right, damn him. With more mental effort than she'd ever tried previously to exert, she smoothed out her face and tried to just enjoy the ride. Enjoy every minute of her soaking wet clothes, chafing shoes, and horrible company, she thought sarcastically. Still, there was something amazing about watching the storm, so she turned her attention away from the interior of his truck and focused on watching the world fly by.

When Clarke was a little girl, she and her father had spent a lot of time watching storms from the safety of their living room window or sometimes, if it wasn't too bad, their porch. She'd loved it because he loved it, and now that he was gone, she loved it because it reminded her of just how much he'd loved it.

Sadness crept in around the edges of her mind and she shivered, despite the warm summer air whistling around outside her window. Bellamy must have noticed, because he turned the heat on, but she was too proud to tell him thank you or raise her hands up to the vents the way she wanted to. In fact, she was trying really hard to pretend he wasn't even there.

This was not an easy thing to do. When Bellamy wasn't being a condescending jerk, he was actually sort of nice to talk to. Also, having never previously heard him make a joke that wasn't at someone else's expense, she was surprised to find that he had a nice sense of humor.

It didn't help that he was more than a little handsome with his rain soaked shirt plastered against his lean torso either. Even the straggly pieces of hair sticking up all over his head didn't take away from how darkly handsome he looked when he wasn't being an arrogant ass.

"Stop staring at me Clarke. It's weird," Bellamy said without looking at her and it was at that exact moment that she realized she must be dreaming. Or dead…, but something was definitely wrong here. Everything about this situation, from his joking manor, and sudden interest in her well being, to his nonchalant way of telling her he knew about their dinner date, was so outside the realm of possibility, that she couldn't force her mind to accept it.

"Quick, pinch me or something." She unbuckled her seatbelt and scooted closer to him on the seat as she said it, but he only glanced briefly at her before returning his attention to the road.

"What?" he asked confused.

"Pinch me so that I can wake up because I'm pretty sure if I'm not sleeping I'm dead." Clarke slid a few inches closer to let him know she was serious.

"What the hell are you talking about? Why would you think that? Did Jaha give you some of the fancy drugs before you left today?" Bellamy was making quick glances at her face and attempting to watch the road while simultaneously trying his hardest to move away from her. All of it together was inexplicably funny for some reason and before she could help it, Clarke burst out laughing.

Everything about their current situation, from her in a ruined silk shirt asking for a pinch, to him smashed as tightly against his door as he could possibly be, was preposterous. There was no other word for it. Somewhere between the time she stepped out of her house this morning and now, something had happened. Maybe she'd fallen on her way in and hit her head really hard on the pavement?

"Clarke?" he asked again, eyeing her cautiously as her fits of laughter fizzled out.

"No I'm not crazy. I just can't believe I'm actually in this truck with you. I'm sure I'm dreaming all of this right now." Turning her head to stare back out at the rain washed landscape in front of them, Clarke wondered what was going to happen. Not just tonight, but in general with her life. It was a sobering question that usually only nagged her from the back of her mind when she was alone or upset, but right this second, she just couldn't push it back into the dark corner it had crawled out of.

"Well you _are_ in this truck with me and you aren't dreaming so do you think that you could get back in your seat?" Bellamy asked, making a concerted effort to look anywhere but at her. "You need to put your seatbelt back on in case something happens."

Clarke sighed and thought about being difficult just for the sake of reviving their usual relationship, but she was suddenly very tired. Not only in the physical sense, but mentally tired as well. Weeks of dealing with trouble at work and in her personal life coupled with the nagging questions surrounding Charlotte had left her drained.

"Sure thing boss." Clarke used only a quarter of her normal sarcasm and felt proud of herself for her restraint. She saw his lips twitch as she slid back to her side of the cab, but wisely, he kept it from a full blown smile.

The drive into the city seemed to take too long and not long enough at the same time, and Clarke found herself dreading their eventual arrival at her apartment.

Bellamy had navigated traffic as easily as he did the straight line winds and Clarke was more grateful for it than she cared to admit. If she was being honest, she would have said that driving herself home to change would have taken twice as long if she'd been the one behind the wheel, not to mention that her already frayed nerves would have been at least three times worse.

Clarke would never thank him for shoving her in his truck the way he did, but she could at least stop being difficult. So, when he asked, she gave him directions to her building and tried to avoid thinking about the invasion of her sanctuary that was about to take place.

After the truck was parked, Bellamy twisted his keys out of the ignition and they sat in silence for few seconds before Clarke started to twitch.

"So, this is your place?" Bellamy asked even though he clearly already knew the answer.

"Yeah, above the boutique," Clarke said staring out at the darkened windows of the clothing shop she lived above. They must have closed early because of the storm.

Bellamy nodded his head and began drumming his fingers impatiently on the wheel, but he made no move to get out of the truck. Clarke wasn't exactly eager either, what with the pouring rain still washing the world in gray and the knowledge that a few minutes from now, her arch nemesis would be standing around in her apartment.

Everything about it made Clarke uncomfortable. Would he judge her because of the things she had? Would he go to TonDC and tell everyone that she was exactly like the bohemian princess he'd been saying she was for years? Maybe he would just stand around arrogantly and not say anything. That was actually probably the best possible outcome, she thought sadly.

"Clarke…" Bellamy's voice broke into the cab just when the silence was about to make her head implode. "I need to change too. Would it be alright if I came inside?"

Clarke was so taken aback by his question, or rather the fact that he bothered to ask permission, that for a moment she simply sat beside him in open mouthed shock. He didn't look at her as she stared at him, but she could see a muscle twitching in his jaw that seemed to indicate he was aware of her perusal and possibly just as uncomfortable as she was.

"Yes, of course," Clarke replied when she managed to make her mouth and brain function together again. Years of her mother drilling politeness into her head wouldn't have allowed her to refuse anyway, so she wasn't really sure why she was drawing all of this out.

Without anymore hesitation, Clarke opened the door of his truck and sprinted up the sidewalk to the door that would take them to the stairwell to her loft. Bellamy was close behind her, carrying a leather bag and shaking rain out of his hair as he stepped inside. Their bodies were close because she'd stopped just inside the door and she could feel the heat radiating off his skin from where he stood staring down at her curiously.

"Right," she said spinning around on her heel and making her way quickly up the steps.

He stopped just behind her as she fidgeted around with her keys, trying to find the right one, and let out a low chuckle when she dropped them and cursed.

"Need a hand?" he asked with a smile.

Clarke thought seriously about kicking him down the stairs Spartan style, but instead she just scooped up her keys, located the correct one, and shoved it in the lock. The door swung open and she tripped over the door sill, stumbling inside, but she made it in and that was what really mattered.

It would have been so easy to turn right back around and slam the door in his face, but she didn't. It wouldn't have improved the situation or made her feel any better even if it might have saved her from some gossip at work. No, they were already this far in, may as well finish the nightmare, Clarke thought darkly.

"So, I'm just going to dry my hair and get changed and then we can go I guess." Clarke spoke as she dropped her keys and purse on the island and headed toward her bedroom. "There's a guest bathroom right here," she said over her shoulder, indicating a door opposite her studio.

"Thanks." She could still hear him event thought she had retreated to her room and the sound of his voice in her usually empty apartment was unnerving.

Once inside her bedroom, Clarke took a deep breath and headed for her closet. There was a gorgeous blue dress that Octavia had picked out for her on one of their shopping adventures that she was dying to wear, but hadn't yet had an occasion to, and it was this that she pulled out and lay across her bed before stripping out of her wet clothes and heading for her en suite bathroom and hair dryer.

Ten minutes later, Clarke was touching up her makeup and fixing he hair back into a sophisticated up do. It was a little more elaborate than the one she'd worn to work, and her makeup was definitely more risque, but she figure there was no reason not to look nice for this death march of a dinner since they were going to be late anyway.

Walking out of her bathroom wrapped in a towel, Clarke quickly selected some underthings and reached for the dress. As she adjusted the shoulders and neckline, she reached around for the zipper and realized with a frustrated huff that she'd never be able to zip it by herself.

Clarke stood in front of her mirror for a few minutes glaring at the beautiful dress and trying desperately to find a solution, but eventually, she sighed and headed back for her closet. The dress was perfect for this evening, but she'd have to find something else.

Hangers clicked and scraped as she pawed through her wardrobe for something that wasn't as boring as her usual attire, but also capable of being put on without assistance. Octavia was sure to be dressed spectacularly, and Clarke didn't want to embarrass her by wearing some frumpy old lady dress, but unfortunately she didn't really have many choices.

Holding up the black cocktail dress she'd worn the first time they went out together, Clarke sighed and walked back to her bed. Just as she was about to slip out of her blue dress, she heard Bellamy knocking softly on her door.

"Clarke?" Bellamy called through the closed door. "Is everything okay? We should really get going."

"Oh yeah I'm just trying to figure out something to wear," she called back, turning towards the door and willing him to leave.

"Can I help?" There wasn't even a hint of teasing in his voice.

Clarke almost smiled. He sounded just like a little kid asking if he could help with dinner or something and she had to admit that she really liked this new Bellamy that didn't make her want to scream or puke in turns.

"Seriously Clarke, I used to help Octavia all the time." She could hear him shifting around in the hall and decided why not? What could it possibly hurt?

Striding over to the door, she threw it open and stared at him in astonishment. " _You_ helped Octavia pick out clothes?" she asked skeptically while he stared at her in shock.

"Jesus Clarke just wear that one," he said looking anywhere but at her and she almost laughed.

"I would, but I can't zip it." She stared at him curiously as he shifted uncomfortably. The nervousness was new. "Did you really help Octavia pick out clothes? I mean… she's so good at it."

Bellamy grunted and reached for her shoulders. Before Clarke could protest, he was spinning her around and she felt his long fingers at her lower back. In one practiced move, Bellamy grabbed hold of the zipper and drug it slowly up her spine, the heat from his fingers searing a path along the skin below them is it went.

Clarke gasped at the unexpected sensation and felt his fingers hesitate for a moment, but then he finished the job, smoothing his hand down her back as he released her.

"Octavia was a scrawny, chicken legged, preteen," he said stepping into her and leaning just over her shoulder so that she could feel the heat of his chest and warmth of his breath, "before she was a fashion forward, head strong, pain in my ass."

Clarke choked on a laugh even as a shiver ran up her spine. She could feel Bellamy's answering grin against the sensitive skin of her neck and a flush crept up her cheeks.

It was odd, but something about their interactions today felt familiar all the way down to the shivers he gave her being so close, but she couldn't put her finger on how or why they would. She'd definitely never been this close to Bellamy before. Of that she was certain!

Things were getting strange and she needed to get the situation back under control, right quick and in a hurry. Nothing good would come of those shivers, she was sure of it.

Stepping away from him, Clarke turned and gave him a smile, but before she could think of something to say, her mind registered his transformation, something it hadn't done as she flung open the door to laugh at him.

Rather than wearing his standard dark t-shirt, dark jeans combo that was his usual out of uniform attire, Bellamy was wearing a smart black on black suit. The V of tanned flesh peaking out from his open collar, caught and held her gaze.

There was no telling how long she stood there staring at him like an idiot, because she was completely unaware of what she'd been doing until he cleared his throat, but it had to have been for an embarrassingly long amount of time based on his level of smugness.

Her eyes flew to his face and she flushed when she saw his smirk, but there was no hiding it now. He'd caught her staring and they both knew it.

"If you want to leave, you might want to get out of the way," Clarke said, voice grumpy as she tried to ignore the pounding inside her chest.

"After you Princess." His body shifted as he turned to the side to let her pass, revealing even more of the dark skin under his shirt, but she forced herself not to look.

As Clarke walked down the hall away from him, her heels clicking on the polished wood planks, she noticed that the door to her studio was open. She stopped abruptly and Bellamy nearly ran into her, but she barely noticed as horrible images of Bellamy snooping through her artwork invaded her mind and washed her face in an entirely different color.

"Did you open this door?" Clarke spun to face him, rage giving her balance she hadn't been aware she possessed.

"It was open when we came in," he said looking startled by the ferocity in her eyes. "It's not a big deal Clarke. Your paintings are great." He was staring down at her in confusion, like it wasn't a problem at all that he had seen them, and that just made her even more furious.

"They… you… I can't believe you!" she shouted, slamming the door shut while he stared at her like she was a psycho. To be fair, she was positive that she looked like one, but damn it, those were private! Her studio was off limits to everyone, even Wells, and Bellamy had just walked into her apartment and snooped around like he owned the place!

"I'm sorry." Bellamy threw his hands up and took a cautious step back, but his face was still saying that he didn't understand at all. "I didn't realize they were private."

Clarke glared, cheeks so hot they felt like they were on fire, but she couldn't exactly yell at him for going into a room he hadn't known was off limits when she'd carelessly left the door open. It didn't occur to her until later that both Blake siblings had now been inside her studio, but it seemed fitting considering their pushy personalities.

"Let's just go," she said, trying to put the brakes on her temper. He followed her silently through the loft and walked out before her so that she could lock the door behind them, in a strained silence.

Thankfully, the rain had stopped by the time they stepped out of the stairwell and headed for his truck, but the wind was still whipping through the deserted streets ruffling her dress and Bellamy's hair. With the sky still dark and foreboding and big, rain heavy clouds pressing down on them from above, Clarke wondered if the worst was over or yet to come, but at least they wouldn't get soaked on the way there.

The ride to the restaurant was silent and tense just like their exit from the loft. Bellamy had the excuse of paying attention to traffic, but Clarke was just being stubborn. She knew it, and felt ridiculous, but that didn't change the sense of betrayal she felt every time she thought about what all Bellamy might have seen inside her studio. She'd told Wells before that her paintings were like a diary and sometimes, the pages of that diary were very dark, revealing things best left hidden. He probably really thought she was a freak show now, and her sullen silence wasn't exactly helping her image.

Taking a deep breath and uncrossing her arms, Clarke turned slightly in her seat to look at him. He must have felt her shift because she saw his posture stiffen even though he didn't take his eyes off of the car in front of them.

"I'm sorry," she said and faltered, struggling to find the right words. "I'm sorry for freaking out about the studio," she added, letting out a huge breath and feeling some of the tension inside the cramped cab of his truck go with it.

"It's okay." He glanced at her without looking smug or arrogant in any way and something about his open, honest look soothed Clarke's anger. "Your work really is great though. You shouldn't hide your talent."

His voice was sincere and the small smile he threw her way seemed genuine. Clarke shrugged, but didn't comment as she turned back to the windshield. She wasn't going to validate her feelings on keeping them hidden away in her studio, to him or anyone else. Everyone was entitled to a bit of privacy in their lives.

The drive to the restaurant was made longer by dense traffic and multiple car accidents, because apparently rain made everyone drive like an idiot, but they were only a forty five minutes late, so all in all, Clarke felt they'd been lucky.

"Oh, hey," Octavia said when the hostess showed them to their table. She glanced curiously between her brother and Clarke, but didn't say anything until everyone was settled. "So it's weird that you guys showed up at exactly the same time." Octavia took a moment to sip her drink and used that pause to study Clarke's reaction.

For her part, Clarke managed to remain cool and composed even under Octavia's scrutiny. There was no reason to add more drama to what was sure to be an already explosive evening, and Clarke wasn't going to pique Octavia's interest further by trying to lie or play things off as other than they were.

"We rode from work together." Clarke glanced at her menu and avoided Bellamy's eyes.

"Really?" Octavia asked askance.

"We did," Bellamy said with an air of finality that let everyone one at the table know that the topic was closed for discussion.

Clarke took her nose out of the menu long enough to meet Bellamy's eyes and then flushed before looking back down. Whatever was going on with them tonight, Clarke hoped it ended soon. Her nerves couldn't take much more of his Dr. Jekyl, Mr. Hyde act, but she was glad that he'd intervened all the same.

It was easy to let Bellamy field Octavia's frequent probing questions because he was good at it, after all, he'd had years of practice. Clarke just hoped that the sibling's banter would at least detract from the mounting tension she could feel radiating from Lincoln's side of the table.

Other than nodding her a greeting, Lincoln had been entirely silent since they arrived, and Clarke felt a little bad for him. No matter how tonight turned out, he was going to end up catching the worst of it.

Clarke sent him a sympathetic look, which he accepted with his usual stoic demeanor as he took another sip of his cocktail. Being stuck between the Blake siblings was almost definitely some form of torture, and she didn't envy him his position one bit.

While she'd been placing her order and musing about the complicated relationships of everyone at the table, basically floating around in her own little world, Octavia and Bellamy had been jabbing and deflecting each other's cleverly disguised probes, and Clarke had entirely lost track of the conversation.

Fortunately for her, she didn't have to embarrass herself by asking because Octavia brought the entire table to a stand still, garnering everyone's undivided attention, when she blurted out the reason for their big dinner.

"Lincoln and I are getting married." Octavia's voice was happy and her smile brilliant, but Clarke almost strained her neck snapping around to see Bellamy's reaction.

For a moment there was total silence at the table. Clarke's heart was beating about a hundred miles an hour and she was looking for escape routes, when Bellamy cleared his throat and nodded.

"Congratulation," he said to his little sister, raising his glass and then draining it.

After a quick glance around the table to confirm that everyone else was in the same state of shock as she, Clarke brought her eyes back to Bellamy. They were all holding their breath, waiting for the explosion that was surely to follow, but Bellamy didn't say anything else, he simply lifted his glass at a passing server and sat it back down with a crack.

"Bellamy?" Octavia's voice was tentative and she reached across the table to lay her hand on his clenched fist.

"Don't Octavia," Bellamy bit out through gritted teeth, glaring down at the spot where their hands met.

"Bell, you can't protect me forever," Octavia said softly, pulling her hand away and reaching for Lincoln, who put a reassuring arm around her shoulders, allowing her to burrow into his side as she stared at her brother with hurt eyes.

Octavia was moments away from crying, Bellamy looked like murder, and Clarke felt like she might vomit. Her head was pounding almost as hard as her heart and she wanted nothing more than to escape, but she told herself over and over again that she needed to stay for Octavia and Lincoln's sake.

Clearly Octavia had been hoping she'd be able to do something to temper her brother's wrath, but Clarke couldn't think of a single thing that might help. Regardless, she had to try something before the angry twitch in Bellamy's cheek became a more pronounced sign of his displeasure. Whatever he'd been expecting Octavia's announcement to be about, it clearly hadn't been this.

"Bellamy, listen." Clarke reached across the table just as Octavia had, to tentatively touch his arm. She could feel him flinch away from her and almost withdrew, but then he turned questioning eyes to hers and she could see that beneath all of the rage, was hurt, and maybe a little fear. It helped put his position into perspective and made Clarke's heart clench with sympathy.

All his life he'd taken care of his sister, made sure she had everything that she needed and that no harm had ever come to her. Then, all of a sudden, he was no longer that person anymore. Clarke realized in that moment that a lot of his feelings had nothing to do with Lincoln. Bellamy probably would have been just as upset about anyone taking his sister away from him, because he wasn't just losing her, he was losing a part of himself.

In the middle of worrying for his sister's well being, he was also experiencing what was probably his first existential crisis. Lincoln was just a convenient target for all of the mixed up emotions that followed.

Bellamy continued to stare at her as she rubbed small circles on his arm with her thumb, trying to convey without speaking that she understood what he was going through and that it was going to be okay. It was all she could do without saying something that would likely embarrass them both and probably make the situation worse.

Clarke knew that Bellamy didn't want to talk about his feelings in front of everyone and certainly not with her. Pain and embarrassment were things she could relate to, but this was also intensely personal and Bellamy didn't seem like the type to pour his soul out to anyone, let alone a work colleague, so she didn't want to cross the line between comfort and intrusion. Let him just take what comfort he could from a simple touch and they'd leave it at that, no need for messy explanations.

It was going well, she was doing her job of soothing him and they were making progress. The tick in his jaw was gone, and he no longer had his hands clenched into fists, but then Octavia, never able to contain herself for long, spoke and Bellamy snapped his eyes away from Clarke's, jerking his arm away with them. Clarke felt the loss of contact like a physical rebuff, but tried not to be hurt by it. This wasn't about her and she had no right to get offended right now.

"Bell, why can't you just be happy for me?" Octavia had tears in her voice and Clarke was aware that things were going downhill fast. "For once in your life, why can't you just recognize that I'm not a little girl anymore?"

"That's what you think?" Bellamy asked through gritted teeth. "You think this makes you all grown up? That screwing around with some guy a decade older than you makes you smart and sophisticated? You think he hasn't done this with a million other girls? Because I'll tell you what O," Bellamy cut the air with an angry gab of his finger in Lincoln's direction, "guys like him, they don't marry people like us." The glare Bellamy sent Lincoln was perfectly matched to his tone and Clarke saw Lincoln stiffen next to Octavia, but he remained silent. "It's all pre-nups and business meetings for people like you isn't it?"

Everyone knew that he was implying that Lincoln was only using Octavia for sex, slumming it until he grew bored, but for the life of her, Clarke couldn't think of a single thing to say.

Of course Lincoln wasn't just messing around with Octavia until he found someone better. He wouldn't have proposed if he only wanted a fling and Clarke didn't understand why Bellamy couldn't see that. Maybe that's what growing up the way he and his sister had, had taught him about life, but it simply wasn't true in this situation.

How do you bridge that kind of disconnect between two people from two very different worlds? Clarke had no idea and apparently neither did Lincoln.

"Bellamy," Lincoln started, his face pulling down into a scowl, but before he could get anything else out, Bellamy was talking over him and Lincoln fell silent, his cold anger in perfect opposition to Bellamy's fiery onslaught.

"Don't. Don't you fucking start okay?" Bellamy was barely containing his rage and Clarke wondered how long it would be before things got out of hand. "Octavia may think you shit stars, but I don't. You see, I've been doing a little research on your Prince Charming here," he said turning his gaze back to his sister. "Turns out he didn't even bother to wait for the wedding before he started cheating. Why don't you ask him about the girl he meets on Wednesdays. Or maybe ask him about the apartment he pays for, for her and her son. Surely your knight in shining armor has an explanation for that right?" he finished heatedly.

Bellamy sat back in his seat with a cruel smile on his face as he watched his sister pull away from Lincoln with a questioning stare. He looked smug, pleased with himself, even though he likely had just broken his sister's heart. Clarke doubted he'd even been thinking about the pain he'd cause Octavia when he'd accused Lincoln, but as tears fell silently down her cheeks, the smile slipped slowly off Bellamy's face.

"Octavia," Lincoln started to say, reaching for her, but it was too late, she'd already turned away.

"Tell me Lincoln. Tell me the truth because if you lie I will never forgive you," she said, wiping at her eyes with her napkin.

"Her name is Sienne." Lincoln took a deep breath and let it out with a weary sigh. "She is the widow of a friend of mine, someone I'd known since childhood."

Clarke tried to catch Lincoln's eyes with hers, she'd heard this story before and knew it didn't have a happy ending, but he wasn't looking at her. He wasn't looking at anybody. His eyes were fixed on a spot in the distance, blank and unseeing as he spoke about past mistakes and old pain.

"He was cop, worked a beat downtown, real rough neighborhood, but everyone liked him. I didn't think it was even possible for someone not to like him," Lincoln said with a half smile that fell away as quickly as it came. "Not until after."

Lincoln paused for a minute, taking a long swallow of his drink and spinning the glass around slowly in his fingers. He stared into the amber liquid like it held an answer to an unanswerable question.

It was clear to Clarke that Lincoln didn't want to talk about this. Not here, and not in front of Bellamy, but he had no choice. Bellamy had forced his hand and now it was reveal all or lose Octavia.

As much as they didn't like each other, Lincoln and Bellamy were actually quite similar, and she knew that Lincoln wouldn't want to look weak in Bellamy's eyes, but at the same time, she also knew that he would never refuse Octavia the truth. Lincoln would tell her right then, in front of everyone, with total disregard for his own pain or embarrassment, because he knew how much hung in the balance and had obviously judged it worth the sacrifice. That alone should have told Bellamy something about the type of man Lincoln was, but Bellamy, as perceptive as he was, refused to see it.

"Lincoln, you don't have to do this," Clarke said, ignoring the stares from Octavia and Bellamy. Lincoln's pain was a sharp reminder of who she was sitting at this table for. Sure, she loved Octavia and wanted only the best for her, but Lincoln was family, one of her oldest friends, and he didn't deserve what Bellamy was forcing him to do.

Lincoln met her eyes, and nodded, letting her know without speaking that he would continue, but he recognized what she was saying.

"Osias was trying for a promotion. He wanted to get his family away from the city, take up a position as a detective down south where his sisters live, but he needed more experience or a big arrest, something that would make him stand out," Lincoln added, frowning down at his hands. "I offered to put in a good word for him. I knew some people in the district he wanted to apply for, but he was a stubborn bastard. Wouldn't take help from anybody." Lincoln laughed darkly, but the admiration in his voice was unmistakable. "Instead, he volunteered to help me with a case I'd been working on for awhile. Gang related stuff, real nasty."

Bellamy was staring at Lincoln strangely, and Clarke wanted to slap him. All of the pain, all of the anger that was present at the table tonight, Bellamy had caused. His big mouth and control issues were hurting everyone. No amount of sympathy on her part for what he was going through with his sister, could make her ignore what he was doing to Lincoln.

Octavia was just an innocent bystander in Bellamy's war against Lincoln, being punished just for daring to love them both, but it didn't stop her from getting covered in his carnage all the same. This story would hurt Lincoln, it would hurt his sister, and the stubborn bastard was too stupid to know or care what he was doing to everyone at the moment, but he would soon enough. In the end, Clarke knew it wouldn't be Lincoln that looked like an asshole.

"We were getting close. He'd managed to find a way to follow the money trail all the way to it's source and he called me, excited about it, but I was in court. I didn't get his message until the next day." Lincoln squeezed his glass hard enough that Clarke was afraid he'd shatter it, but he kept going, forcing his way through painful memories better left forgotten. "After… after what happened, I went to identify his body so that Sienne wouldn't have to. They'd shot him hundreds of times. Way more than anyone would ever need to kill a person."

Lincoln threw back the rest of his drink and slammed the glass down on the table, tension radiating out of his body like a physical wave, but he didn't stop.

"Someone found out about his lead and told their boss. I believe you know him Bellamy," Lincoln said raising his eyes to glare across the table. "Isn't Shumway one of the inmates you're always making deals with?" he asked, but didn't bother to give Bellamy time to answer. "Shumway found out about Osias and had him killed. We were never able to pin it on Shumway because it was just some stupid kid on his payroll that pulled the trigger, but we all knew who gave the order."

Bellamy was sitting back in his chair, staring at the place where his hands rested on the table with a look that Clarke couldn't quite discern. Perhaps it was regret? Or maybe shock? Surely when he'd been doing his half ass digging, he hadn't known about any of what Lincoln was telling them now, or he wouldn't have bothered putting his sister through all of this. Lincoln he might not care about, but Clarke couldn't imagine that he'd intentionally stir everything up for no reason, knowing that Octavia would be hurt in the process. Bellamy may be stupid, but he wasn't cruel.

"Lincoln it wasn't your fault," Clarke interjected sadly. She knew that no matter how many times he heard it, he'd never believe it, but she said it anyway because it was true.

"I forgot about them." Lincoln didn't even acknowledge that she'd spoken and there was enough pain in his voice to bring tears to her eyes when he continued. "I got wrapped up in tying his death to Shumway. I was so angry," he added, shaking his head and looking down.

Clarke watched as Octavia reached over to touch his shoulder and knew that no matter what else came of this night, Octavia and Lincoln would be okay.

"Three weeks after his funeral I got a call about his son, Zoran." Lincoln's face was dark and dangerous, but Clarke knew all of those feelings were focused internally. Lincoln would be punishing himself for this for the rest of his life.

"On his way home from school, some punks jumped him. Cut him up pretty bad and I felt like a piece of shit, because if I hadn't been such a self absorbed asshole, I would have gotten them out of there sooner. Osias never wanted them in that neighborhood. He'd been working his ass off to get them out and I just fucking forgot them."

"Lincoln don't," Octavia said, pressing a kiss to his cheek and hugging him.

"It's alright." He placed a kiss on her forehead, inhaling deeply before pushing her back into her seat. "Sienne and her son," Lincoln went on, clearing his throat before speaking, "they didn't have anything. They were scared and alone, and I couldn't leave them like that. Not after everything that I'd done to their family.

"I knew that Sienne would never accept money from me directly, so I set up an account with her bank, told her it was part of Osias' pension, that it would help her pay for things until she got on her feet and then I helped them move to an apartment in a better neighborhood. I meet them every other Wednesday for dinner. We talk about Zoran and how he's doing in school. Last summer I helped coach his little league team," Lincoln said with the first genuine smile she'd seen on his face since she sat down at the table.

"He's a great kid," he added, smiling at Octavia who returned it with a nod. "I've wanted to introduce you two for awhile now, but he's a little shy." Lincoln's smile faded a little, but it didn't totally disappear. "He's got some scars, from the attack, and he's nervous around new people."

"Oh Lincoln, you don't have to force him to meet me. I trust you and I know you'd never do anything to hurt me," she added, glaring at Bellamy as she spoke.

"No," Lincoln said taking her hand and kissing the back of it. "I should have told you a long time ago. It's just…"

"It's fine." Octavia cut him off with a shake of her head. "It's okay. I understand," she assured him, bringing her palm up to cup his cheek.

It was sweet, the way you could see their love even when they weren't doing anything, and it made Clarke smile. This dinner had been a disaster, there was no arguing that, but Bellamy's wedge had only served to bring Octavia and Lincoln closer together.

"Lincoln I'm…" Bellamy started, but he stopped short at the fiery look his sister sent his way.

"Shut up Bell." Octavia was gritting her teeth, clearly trying very hard to be civil and not cause a scene, but just barely managing it. Her eyes were still sparkling with unshed tears and she looked like she was on the verge of losing it when Lincoln placed a soothing hand on her shoulder. Octavia turned to him, and he shook his head.

Clarke let out a sigh of relief when she saw that Octavia wasn't going to start screaming or throwing things. Out of the two Blake siblings, Clarke had expected Bellamy to be the one to get them tossed out of the restaurant tonight, but no one could ever say that Octavia didn't have a temper as well.

Thus far, they'd managed to go mostly unnoticed, although she was sure the wait staff knew something was up because they had discreetly avoided their table for the entirety of their conversation even though none of them had placed their meal orders yet.

"No, I mean it," Bellamy pushed on, meeting his sisters glare levelly before turning to Lincoln. "I'm… I'm sorry," he said meeting Lincoln's eyes and not looking away until the other man nodded.

Just like that, the tension around the table eased and Clarke was able to breath easily again. Moments later, their waitress came to take their orders and bring everyone fresh drinks. Clarke was pleased she'd remembered to make hers a double. Alcohol wouldn't make the evening better, but Clarke figured it couldn't make it any worse either and getting pleasantly drunk might help her skip through the rest of their awkward dinner a little more comfortably.

After the first few minutes following Bellamy's apology, the table was silent, everyone too caught up in their own thoughts to want to try at conversation, but after awhile, Lincoln and Octavia started chatting casually between themselves, entirely absorbed in each other. Bellamy was studying anything that kept his eyes off their table so that left Clarke to sip her drink and pray their food arrived quickly.

She was on her third glass and starting to feel pleasantly buzzed when she felt Bellamy's eyes on her, stiffening her spine and bringing her back to full alert.

"Maybe you should slow down," he said nodding his head at her glass.

"Maybe you should mind your own damn business, Bell." Octavia's bite was clear in her voice as she spoke across the table. Apparently she wasn't quite oblivious to her brother's uncomfortable silence after all and obviously she wasn't ready to let go of her anger, Clarke thought with a smile as she cowed her big brother with a single look. "I think we'll have another won't we Clarke?" Octavia asked, smiling across the table as if her brother didn't even exist.

"Um, sure." Clarke shrugged and shot Bellamy a slightly sympathetic look when Octavia turned away. She didn't want or need Bellamy bossing her around, but she also knew how awful he must have been feeling at the moment and she wasn't cruel enough to make his misery worse by adding to it.

When their food finally arrived along with more drinks for the table, Clarke downed hers gratefully. The burn helped distract her from Bellamy's disapproving gaze.

The cuisine was probably excellent, but in her nervous state it all tasted like cardboard to Clarke and eventually she pushed it away in favor of picking up her glass again.

Twenty more minutes and she'd be able to make a polite excuse about needing to head home and make her escape, but as she was thinking up the best way to politely tell Lincoln and Octavia that she'd rather dig out her eyes with a spoon than sit through another hour with them, she felt Bellamy's gaze land on her for what felt like the hundredth time in the last hour.

"Clarke," Bellamy said quietly, trying not to draw Octavia's attention. "I can't drive you back to your car and let you leave in it. You've had too much to drink."

"It's fine I'll just take a cab." She give him a nonchalant shrug and took another gulp for good measure. The liquor was sweet, but burned ominously in her belly.

"You're going to take a cab to TonDC?" Bellamy asked in surprise.

"No." Clarke rolled her eyes at him. "I'm going to take a cab back to the loft."

"Then how are you going to get your car back?" He looked perplexed as he asked which was completely at odds with is normal, totally self assured attitude about everything.

If she was being truthful, Clarke had been wondering the same thing for the last half hour, but she figured that if she just got home tonight, she'd be able to figure the rest of it out tomorrow. Taking a cab to TonDC would be inconvenient, but she'd do it if she had to. Maybe Octavia or Lincoln would be able to give her a lift there instead, she thought glancing at the pair with a soft smile.

Realizing that she hadn't answered him, Clarke glanced over at Bellamy and shrugged again. "I'll figure it out."

"You're being stupid," he said indignantly as he sat back in his seat and pushed away his now empty plate.

"Pardon?" Clarke asked even though she'd heard him perfectly fine. In light of how decent he'd been on the way over, she figured she at least owed him the chance to try to correct himself before she did something drastic like emptying her glass over his head.

"Come on, lets get out of here." He stood, ignoring her shocked look and generous offer to let him recant his rude remark.

Octavia and Lincoln broke off their conversation to stare up at him, but neither said anything. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Bellamy shifting back and forth, clearly uncomfortable, but she wasn't feeling charitable enough at the moment to rescue him. Let him stand there like an idiot and try to explain to them all how he planned to drag her out of the restaurant.

"It's been," Bellamy paused awkwardly with a glance at his sister, who was glaring daggers at him, "interesting," he finished lamely, rubbing the back of his neck as he stared at his feet.

Clarke watched that hand complete it's nervous circuit through his hair and felt a sense of deja vu, but she couldn't for the life of her figure out why.

"I think it's time we get going though. I've got to work tomorrow and Clarke," he glanced at her and she ignored him, too busy trying to figure out what was going on inside her own brain to care what stupid thing he'd say next, "I'm going to make sure she gets home alright."

"It's not a problem Bellamy. I can just get a cab." Clarke looked up at him curiously. He was behaving so oddly today and she couldn't pass all of it off as nerves. Something was different about him lately, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

His insistence that _he_ be the one to take her home might have been adorable if he wasn't such a persistently stubborn ass ninety eight percent of the time. As it were, she was getting irritated that he couldn't seem to take the hint.

"You should go with him." Lincoln's quiet voice drew everyone's stares, but unlike Bellamy, Lincoln didn't look uncomfortable under the groups scrutiny.

It probably had something to do with always being in a courtroom full of people, Clarke thought idly while the other half of her alcohol muddled brain tried to make sense of his words. It was nearly inconceivable that Lincoln would be agreeing with Bellamy about this, so Clarke just continued to stare stupidly, hoping that he would say something else to clarify the situation without her having to actually ask him what the hell he was thinking suggesting such a thing.

"There has been a series of missing persons reports filed with my office in the past two weeks. All of them were women of about your age and build and all were last seen entering a cab in the city. I would feel better if you let Bellamy take you home Clarke," Lincoln said, nodding soberly at her.

"Well… well okay I guess," Clarke said awkwardly. She knew that Lincoln's caution was probably an exaggerated need to protect someone after having relived the violent loss of Osias, and she didn't want to make him worry anymore about all of them than he already did, but she really, really didn't want to leave with Bellamy.

If someone had asked her why she didn't want to get back in the truck with Bellamy, Clarke wasn't sure she could have given them a great answer. Something deep in her chest was warning her that terrible things were coming and even if her intuition led to nothing, as it sometimes did, she was still hesitant to ignore the feeling entirely.

"Clarke?" Bellamy glanced down at her, clearly waiting for her to either rise or make another excuse.

"Just go with him Clarke," Octavia interjected, putting a hand softly on Clarke's arm. "I think he's met his asshole quota for this evening," she added, pointedly looking at her brother. "Surely not even the almighty Captain Bellamy Blake could manage to be anymore unpleasant than he already has. Isn't that right Bell?"

"Yeah." Bellamy stared sadly at his sister and then dropped his gaze.

Sitting there between the Blake siblings, both of whom looked miserable in their own ways, Clarke could almost feel the tension in the air, smothering her as much as a hand over her mouth, and she was torn between whom to sympathize with most.

Octavia and Lincoln were the obvious injured party, but Clarke couldn't help but feel bad for Bellamy as well. He looked so lost and so hurt that part of her wanted to reach out and take his hand. Maybe tell him it would be okay even though she had no clue if it would be or not. There were some bridges that, once crossed, could never be traveled over again and Bellamy may very well have stepped down that path with Lincoln this evening. Even Octavia, who was her brother's staunchest champion under any other circumstances, might find it hard to forgive and forget the things that had happened this evening.

What should have been a happy dinner, one that would make a memory Octavia could one day tell her children or grandchildren, had become a darkness that wouldn't be easily forgotten. Even someone with as much love for Bellamy as Octavia would need some time coming around after that. No one's engagement announcement should be met with such malice and opposition, Clarke thought sadly.

"I was thinking that we could have a party at the ranch," Clarke said abruptly, startling herself almost as much as everyone else. She felt her cheeks flush, but she soldiered on, convinced that her impromptu announcement was the best idea she'd had all month.

"A congratulatory party," Clarke added, smiling at Octavia as details of the idea solidified in her brain. "It would be nice." Her grin broadened when she recognized a spark of excitement in Octavia's eyes. "Maybe something small and intimate, just a handful of friends and a band. What do you think?"

"You have a ranch?" Bellamy blurted out before anyone else could respond, but he held his hands up in surrender when Octavia's almost smile turned quickly into a frown.

"I do," Clarke answered awkwardly, trying to rush over Bellamy's rudeness and prevent another argument. "It's just a small place a few hours outside of the city. There are a few extra bedrooms and we could have tents set up outside for the party itself. It's beautiful out there this time of year. Right around sunset lightning bugs light up the fields around the house and it's so quiet and peaceful." Clarke sighed wistfully, remembering all the nights she'd caught lightning bugs in her hands and wondering where all the time between then and now had gone without her noticing.

"Oh Clarke that sounds fantastic. We could put up fairy lights in the trees and decorate with hay bales and those old fashion lanterns that you see in movies. It would be magical," Octavia said in a gush, reaching across the table to pull Clarke into a hug.

"I think we actually have some of those in the attic." Clarke laughed as Octavia released her and started bouncing excitedly in her seat.

"There is a big wooden gazebo that could probably fit a band or definitely a DJ if you guys would rather have that." Clarke smiled first at Octavia and then at Lincoln who was watching his fiance's excitement with a softness in his eyes that almost made Clarke tear up again.

"Oh my god that would be so perfect. I can't wait to start planning it! We could have lavender flower arrangements and purple highlights on the tables and…" Octavia gushed, barely taking a breath between sentences. "I want lavender and taupe as my wedding colors. I don't know if I told you that or not, but I think it will favor your coloring and mine too so it will be perfect! Oh Clarke I'm so excited!"

Every trace of hurt, betrayal, and displeasure was erased in a flood of words as Octavia single handedly planned three evenings worth of events, some of which were practical, and some that were much less so. All Clarke could do was smile and try to keep up as Octavia rattled away happily and Lincoln smiled indulgently at her.

Her crazy ideas were okay. Clarke would listen to them all night long, even if there wasn't even a remote possibility that they would happen, because Octavia looked happy and that's all she wanted.

Normally, Clarke wouldn't invite people, and especially not a bunch of strangers, to the ranch because it was sort of _her_ place, a secret oasis that she retreated to in times of need, but if it meant taking away the dark smudge that this evening had left on their engagement, Clarke would do it a hundred times over.

Little details, like the need to call and prepare Indra for the invasion, filtered through Clarke's mind as she half listened to Octavia on a wave of happiness and alcohol and for the first time since she'd gotten out of bed that morning, Clarke felt like she could breath.

She hadn't realized until that moment, just how much the negative attitudes that seemed to surround her lately, had affected her own anxiety. It was refreshing to be with Octavia again because Clarke knew that all of the things she would normally struggle with, like social awkwardness and an inability to plan color schemes, would be taken over swiftly by the hurricane force of Octavia's personality and she'd be able to just sit back and bask in the glow of Octavia's happiness.

Her mother would have called a party like this an extravagance, one that benefited no one and accomplished nothing, and as Clarke listened to Octavia talk about garlands for the horses, she could see how Abby would think so, but Clarke was much more like her father than her mother in regard to things like informal parties for friends.

Jake Griffin would have called her offer paradise. Good food, good friends, and peaceful country air would make up for any excess she might have to suffer under Octavia's excitement.

"Life's a journey Clarke, and sometimes, when the river is calm, you've just got to lean back and float."

She could almost hear her father whispering it in her ear and it brought an ache to her chest that she hadn't felt in a long time. It was so easy to get caught up in the day to day and forget to just live. Clarke knew that her dad would have understood her busy life, after all, he had married her mother, but Clarke couldn't help but feel guilty about just how far she'd drifted from her father's philosophy on life. Perhaps this party would be a new beginning for her as much as for Octavia and Lincoln.

"You can plan the details later," Lincoln said wrapping an arm around Octavia. "Clarke's eyes have glazed over," he added with a laugh.

"Oh I'm sorry Clarke." Octavia looked across the table, taking in Clarke's blank stare and laughed.

"Don't be. I think your ideas are perfect." Clarke took Octavia's hand and squeezed gently trying to apologize for getting lost in her head for a moment. "Maybe this weekend we can go down together so that you can get a look at the place. It might make it easier planning the party if you knew what you were working with."

"That's perfect!" A huge grin lit up Octavia's face, and Clarke breathed easier. No one knew that she'd been thinking sad thoughts about her life instead of listening to Octavia's plans, and no one would ever need to.

"It's a date then," Clarke said as she rose from her seat. Bellamy had been standing awkwardly throughout their entire exchange and she'd decided that it was time to put him out of his misery. It was probably also a good idea to end the evening on a high note. "Call me tomorrow and we'll work out the details," she added as Octavia hugged her fiercely.

"Will do babe." Octavia grinned from ear to ear as she stepped back so that Lincoln could hug Clarke as well. "Bellamy," she added dismissively, not bothering to hug her brother or even offer a farewell.

Clearly the party plans had not fixed everything, but at least it was a start, Clarke thought as she ushered Bellamy out ahead of her so that he wouldn't have a chance to say anything else stupid and ruin all of the work she'd done trying to cheer up his sister.

"Stop pushing," he grumbled as soon as they stepped out onto to sidewalk.

"Just trying to save you from yourself," Clarke said under her breath as she stepped to the curb and raised her hand to signal a cab.

"What are you doing?" Bellamy asked, grabbing her hand out of the air and glaring down at her. "Didn't you hear what Lincoln said?"

"Of course I heard him." Clarke wriggled her hand to get it out of Bellamy's grip, but the more she struggled the closer his hand clung. Giving up for the moment, Clarke huffed and glared up at him. "He's just being overly cautious. What are the odds that I'll be abducted on my way home? A million to one? I think I'll take my chances." Clarke rolled her eyes when Bellamy's eyebrows drew together at her casual statement.

"Well I won't," he said simply and then started marching towards the parking garage.

Clarke had two choices; follow or find a way to sever her arm because he wasn't letting go of her hand. "You know you're being ridiculous right?" she asked as she jogged to keep up with his much longer stride.

"Don't care," he mumbled, but he slowed down a little when he noticed she was struggling to keep up in her heels. "Those shoes are ridiculous." He glared at her feet as if they personally had ruined his entire day and she felt herself grin.

A laugh escaped her belly before she had time to stop it and before he could react, Clarke was doubled over and laughing so hard her eyes watered. She was aware that she almost definitely looked like a lunatic, as she was more than a little wobbily, out of breath, and holding the hand of a man who looked like he was being forced to partner a slug to prom, but she didn't care.

After a few moments in which Bellamy stared at her like she was crazy, which only made her laugh harder, giggles replaced the laughter and then hiccups replaced the giggles until finally Clarke was standing beside him wiping her eyes and hiccuping hard enough to make her stomach hurt.

Mirth turned quickly to discomfort as she fought to stop hiccuping long enough to tell him to quit staring at her, but in the end it didn't matter because he turned on his heal and without a word, pulled her along until they arrived at his truck. With an audible sigh, he opened the passenger side door and then turned to her, dropping her hand as his fingers found her waist.

Before she could protest or struggle out of his grip, Clarke was airborne. Her stomach did a sickening flip in the seconds it took her to go from pavement to soft leather seat and she clutched at the only solid thing that wasn't spinning, which just so happened to be Bellamy's shoulders.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Clarke fought back nausea and willed the world to stop rotating around her all the while clenching the solid warmth in front of her. She wasn't aware of how long she'd been gripping him until he cleared his throat and her eyes flew open.

The dark brown depths of his eyes swam into her vision and she jerked back at their proximity. He was too close, closer than he needed to be, and suddenly, Clarke could feel the heat of his palms burning through the cloth over her waist and realized that as much as she was gripping him for stability, he was gripping her right back.

After the shock of the situation wore off, Clarke's muscles began to relax. There was really no stopping it. A long day filled with anxiety and anticipation had drained her and she was exhausted, certainly too tired to care what was happening anymore. Bellamy was there and he was warm and solid in a world that had turned upside down so she clung to him like a life preserver while her brain floated adrift in a sea of inebriation.

Clarke wasn't aware that she had leaned into him until her face touched his shoulder and from there, any lingering resistance fled. She leaned forward, far enough that she would have fallen out of the truck had he not been standing so solidly in her door, and buried her face in the side of his neck.

Her arms wound around his shoulders, drawing him closer as her fingers sifted through the soft hair at his nape and she inhaled, breathing in the scent of his cologne and something else that was unique to him. It was a mixture of sunshine, the smell people had when they'd spent time outdoors, and something darker that she couldn't quite place, but it didn't matter, because right at that moment, it was the best thing she'd ever experienced.

His hands left her hips and for a moment she thought he was going to push her away, but he only moved them up her back, soothing away her anxiety with every stroke of his fingers.

Bellamy turned into her, his face brushing against her hair as he cradled her and Clarke wondered idly if he needed their hug just as much as she did. For a moment, his lips had rested against the sensitive skin of her neck and she'd shivered involuntarily, pulling her fingers through his hair roughly, but then he moved away, placing his chin on top of her shoulder instead.

Clarke was aware that her breath was coming out in strange patterns, labored and loud even to her ears, but it didn't matter because she could also hear Bellamy. He was speaking softly, almost too soft to hear, and she couldn't make out anything he was saying, but she knew it was meant to be soothing.

There was no telling how long they sat like that, with her clutching desperately to the only stable thing in the world and him murmuring into her ear, but eventually she must have drifted off because when she woke, she was buckled in and they were driving through the dark, deserted streets near her loft.

Curled against the seat the way she was, Clarke had the opportunity to study his profile without him noticing. His eyes were dark, almost black in the low light, and his expression was serious, almost brooding, as he stared out at the rain slicked streets.

One hand was gripping the wheel as he expertly navigated the intersections that would take them to her loft, as if he'd been there a million times instead of just once, and the other was extended towards her. As she followed the line of his arm down to his hand, she startled, noticing that his fingers were linked with hers, and that involuntary movement was enough to draw his gaze.

"Feeling better?" he asked quietly with a smirk that was reminiscent of his usual self, but softer in a way that she couldn't define.

"No," she said, running her free hand down her face and groaning. "I think I'm dying."

"Do it quietly okay? I'm trying to remember where you live," he added with a grin. Clarke frowned at him half heartedly because they both knew that he knew exactly where he was going, but it only made him laugh.

"I'll haunt your truck," Clarke grumbled, turning to set up properly in the seat. Her movements pulled her hand away from his and she felt a moment of hesitation, but then he released her fingers and switched his hands on the steering wheel.

"I know who to call," he said and she stared at him in confusion until he started humming the ghost buster theme song under his breath.

"You're an idiot." Clarke said it as if she was offended, but she was smiling at him. Bellamy liked ghost busters, who knew?

He was still laughing at her when they pulled up in front of the loft and he parallel parked with ease. The engine cut off along with the jovial mood inside the cab.

The air grew thick with awkwardness as Bellamy fiddled with his keys like a nervous first date and Clarke tried to figure out how exactly you were supposed to thank somebody for letting you be drunk all over them and giving you a lift to your house.

"Clarke…" Bellamy said, his voice low and serious, but she cut him off before he could finish.

"Do you want to come up?" Bellamy's head snapped around fast enough that she was a little surprised he didn't break his neck and she almost laughed until she realized what she'd just done.

She'd invited Bellamy fucking Blake to come up! Consciously, she hadn't meant for it to sound like innuendo or an invitation to her bed, but now that the words were out of her mouth, Clarke realized that, that was _exactly_ how it sounded. Unable to think of a way to fix it, she just stared at him in horror, waiting for him to say something that would sink the final nail into her coffin of shame tonight.

"Sure."

He said it so casually, as if some little old lady had just invited him in for tea, or he was about to have brunch with an old friend, that for a moment Clarke could only stare at him. Her brain had obviously broken somewhere around the time his mouth started moving, and damned if she could figure out what was even happening anymore, but one thing was clear; the invitation had been issued and he'd accepted. She had no choice but to oblige now that her stupid mouth had vomited out words that could never be taken back.

Rather than risk saying anything else disastrous, Clarke threw open her door and hopped out of the truck. Well, hop was one word for it, though a casual onlooker might have more accurately called it a graceless flop that nearly ended with her eating pavement.

"Take it easy," Bellamy said as he appeared in her peripheral view. It was amazing how fast this man could walk, she thought staring at him like an idiot while she tried to make her stupid legs work more like normal legs and less like floppy tentacles attached to her torso.

"Clarke the sea witch," she muttered under her breath, gripping the side of the truck for balance as she began her unsteady trek towards the building.

"What?" Bellamy asked in confusion, taking her arm when there was no more truck to hold onto.

"Nothing," she replied, shaking her head at her own stupidity. The stairs loomed ahead of them, looking exactly as friendly as Everest as she craned her neck to see the top. "Well this is going to be fun." She'd been trying for a bit of levity in their bizarre situation, but only managed to sound pitiful and tired.

"Come on Ursula." Bellamy bent, scooping her up in his arms and ignored her yelp of surprise as he started up the steps.

"You got my reference," Clarke said grinning stupidly up at him.

"Of course I did," Bellamy mocked her with an indulgent grin.

"You're going to hurt your back." This she said more seriously as she eyed the remaining steps.

"You can rub it for me." Bellamy spoke offhandedly without so much as a glance at her as they made the landing and he started rummaging around in her purse one handed for the keys.

"My feet hurt." Clarke glared at her heels, not bothering to try to help find her own keys, aware on some level that their conversation was disjointed and strange even by her awkward standards. Bellamy seemed to have the situation well in hand, so she simply sighed, letting him jostle her without protest.

"I'll rub them for you." He grinned at the goofy smile she tossed his way and then unlocked the door and stepped through.

Not bothering to turn on any lights, Bellamy headed straight for her bedroom. Once inside, he placed her on feet near the bed with her back facing him and she let him to do it without protest. Not that she could have put up much of a fight anyway in her sorry condition.

Clarke stared at the pattern the moonlight made on her bedspread as it filtered through the rain washed windows in fascination for a long moment, but then she felt Bellamy's fingers on her back and she stiffened.

"Relax, princess," he said sarcastically as his nimble fingers slid her zipper down. As soon as he was finished, Clarke felt him step away and seconds later, she heard the door to her bedroom close behind him.

Turning to make sure he was gone, she tripped over her own two feet and landed with a thud and a laugh on the floor near her bed. She took a few seconds to assess her situation, not caring a bit that the floor was cold under her bare legs or that she probably looked like a hot mess.

Everything was so ridiculous that Clarke was having a hard time fitting tonights events into reality and her mind spun along with the room as she tried to get a grip on things.

Here she was, drunk and sitting on her bedroom floor while Bellamy Blake wandered around her apartment. The first part of that wasn't so hard to believe, she'd spent tons of nights stumbling around this place in the dark, drunk on wine or happiness or both, but the latter half was much harder to come to terms with.

Pushing up onto all fours, Clarke kicked off her stupid shoes and tried to stand. After a bit of wobbling and a lot of dizziness, she managed to make it as far as her bathroom. Showering while a new guest waited around for you was one of the rudest things she could imagine doing, but she knew that it would make her feel better, hopefully less drunk, and really, she didn't think Bellamy would care.

The water was warm and she was sleepy, so she didn't stay in long, only doing the essentials before stepping out onto the cold tiled floor. Her robe was on the back of the door, so after toweling off, Clarke wrapped it around herself and headed back out into her bedroom. She threw on the first nightgown that came out of the drawer, flung her robe in the direction of the bathroom, and headed out of her bedroom in search of something to drink. Water was essential if she didn't want to wake up tomorrow feeling like roadkill.

Stumbling into the kitchen humming _People are Strange_ under her breath, Clarke had pretty much forgotten that Bellamy was still somewhere in the apartment until she stubbed her toe on the island and he started laughing.

From her vantage point on the floor where she was gripping her foot and cursing, she couldn't see him, but she could hear him walking towards her and she groaned.

"Clarke are you okay," Bellamy asked, obviously fighting back laughter as he stared down at her.

"It's broken, I'm sure of it," she said bringing her foot to her chest and leaning over it until her face touched the floor. Bellamy's deep laughter followed her mumbled oaths, but he reached down to help her up when she finally uncurled from her ball of pain.

"What are you doing in here anyway? I figured you'd be lights out as soon as you landed on a flat surface." He was still laughing, but he seemed to actually expect an answer, so she gave him one.

"I wanted to get some water," she said primly, hobbling around him and trying her best to ignore his smirk.

Unfortunately for Clarke, she'd been too distracted by Bellamy's continued presence at her back, to bother looking to see what setting the dispenser was on. Rather than a nice cool glass of water, her refrigerator spat out tiny shards of crushed ice as if all the fury of the abominable snowman's farts were contained with in it, causing her to drop her glass which of course landed directly on her already injured toe.

"God damnit! Why is today so awful? Why can't anything work right? This stupid loft with its stupid ice can go straight to hell! I'm so sick of everything!" she screeched, slamming a fist down on the freezer door.

She was still breathing hard and glaring angrily at the offending refrigerator when she noticed Bellamy's laughter. It wasn't a nice polite amount of laughter either. He was braying like a jackass and Clarke's vision went red!

"You know what Bellamy? You can go straight to hell too!" she yelled, striding over to him with every intention of giving him a sound slap across his stupid face, but she'd forgotten about the all of the ice, which was rapidly melting into a pool of water just big enough for her to slip in.

Before she fully understood what was happening, Clarke was staring up at the ceiling while the back of her nightgown soaked up most of the mess she'd made. For a moment she just sat there in her cold puddle of water, ignoring Bellamy's incessant laughter as much as she could, and striving for a dignified way to recover from her situation.

Nothing came to her, but she was saved from having to make the decision of whether or not to try to stand up again or just rolling over and go to sleep right where she lay, by Bellamy's warm hands lifting her under the arms and dragging her towards him.

He was still giggling a little and trying to wipe the moisture away from his eyes, but he had an arm wrapped firmly around her, anchoring her in place. Apparently he didn't think she could manage to stand on her own, she thought bitterly, but then she realized he was probably right and did her best not to glare at him until he stopped laughing.

With one final swipe at his eyes, Bellamy took a deep breath and smiled down at her. The look on her face was apparently hilarious because she could see him working to suppress another gale of laughter. It appeared to be a mighty struggle. "Come on Clarke, you need to go to bed," he said, ushering her out of the kitchen like she was a child.

Ignoring the fact that planting her feet and crossing her arms over her chest made her look _exactly_ like the petulant child he was treating her as, Clarke stopped, forcing him to turn and look at her.

"I came in here to get some water," she said in the most level voice she could manage. Her nightgown was plastered to skin, her hair was almost definitely completely wild and she was seriously starting to wonder if her toe actually was broken, but she refused to ask Bellamy to get the water for her. She'd die of dehydration first.

Apparently he could tell that she was making this her last stand, because his face sobered a little as he glanced down at her. "I'll bring you some water Clarke," he said with mirth sparkling in his eyes, but not a hint of a smile touched his mouth. "Go on," he added, giving her a little push to get her started.

Clarke stumbled a little and glared at him for almost upsetting her balance, but in the end, she decided it was best to pick her fights wisely, and limped away as fast as her injured pride would let her.

She was sitting on the edge of her bed in a fresh nightgown brushing her hair when he knocked on the door and then poked his head inside.

"Truce?" he asked with a smile, holding up a glass of water as he stepped into the room.

She sighed and continued to brush the knots out of her hair, but didn't bother to reply. Clarke was exhausted and she was struggling to find any humor in her situation. Her serious mood sobered Bellamy more than any words could and she watched him as he walked silently towards her, setting the glass down on her night stand and then taking a seat behind her.

"Here, let me have that before you rip all of your hair out." To her surprise, Bellamy motioned toward the brush in her hand, not stopping until she complied.

With a queer look, Clarke passed it over to him and reached for the water. As soon as she was back on the bed, she felt him lift her hair and then the stiff bristles of the brush began to stroke her scalp. The glass of water that she'd wanted so badly was quickly forgotten as she melted into Bellamy's touch.

Clarke couldn't remember a time when someone else had brushed her hair. Sure, someone must have done it when she was very young and couldn't do it herself, but she didn't remember it. Growing up, she'd seen things like this happening on silly rom-com's and best friends movies, but she'd never believed that people actually sat around brushing each others hair until this exact moment.

"Put the water down before you spill it." Bellamy's deep voice spoke right into her ear and she jumped, snapping her eyes open and sloshing the water out of her glass as her heart pounded inside her chest.

"Thanks for the reminder," she said with a frown, as she sat the glass down and brushed water droplets off her comforter.

He chuckled at her temper, but didn't say anything. Instead, he picked up another section of hair and went back to work smoothing out the tangles.

"So do you do this a lot?" Clarke asked, trying desperately to remain alert as Bellamy's fingers worked some kind of dark magic in her hair.

"I used to." His movements paused long enough for Clarke to worry that he was finished and she was about to apologize when he spoke again. "When Octavia was really young," he added softly as the brush started to move again. Clarke let out a sigh of relief and subtly moved closer to him just in case he was thinking about stopping.

"It's so odd," Clarke said as her eyes drifted closed and her mind started to wander.

"What is?" he asked quietly.

"You," she replied sleepily.

"Me? I'm odd?" His tone was indignant and his fingers dropped the brush in favor of moving her chin around so that he could see her expression.

"No," she said with a smile, letting her head fall back on his shoulder with a sigh. "Well yes, you, but not the way you think," she added and yawned.

"Well in what way then?" he asked and even though her eyes were closed, she could feel him smiling.

"What?" Clarke had lost the thread of her thoughts the moment she closed her eyes.

"You said I was odd," he stated again, ghosting his fingers along her jaw.

"Not you, you. The other you," Clarke answered, catching his hand in hers and using it to wrap his arm securely around her waist so that she could snuggle further into his warmth.

"There isn't any other me." Bellamy's voice was deep and serious even as he tightened his grip and pulled her tighter against his chest.

"Yes there is. There's you, and then there's Captain Bellamy Blake, supreme asshole and ruiner of all days." She yawned again, not caring that her words might be offensive.

"Do I ruin your days alot?" His voice was soft and she could feel his breath on her shoulder. When she didn't answer right away, he nudged her with his forehead so that she'd lean back and look at him again.

"Sometimes," Clarke answered honestly before closing her eyes and slipping back into his comfortable embrace.

Her entire body felt warm and liquid and she couldn't be bothered with how embarrassing this was going to be in the morning. Right this second, Clarke didn't care if Bellamy thought she was an idiot or if he'd tell everyone at work all about their drunken encounter. All she cared about was the warmth of his skin and the gentle timbre of his voice in her ear.

"I'm sorry Clarke." There was a sadness in his voice that struck her as genuine.

Clarke opened her eyes long enough to be startled by how close their faces were, but the intensity she saw in his gaze drowned out every other thought until all she could see were the golden brown depths of his eyes and the smooth bronze of his skin so close to hers.

"Don't be," she said, and then, without thought of consequence or reason, she pressed her lips to his.

The kiss which had started out so gentle and innocent, a simple reminder that he didn't have to apologize, quickly turned hungry.

Bellamy's fingers slid down her jaw to grip her neck just above her collar bone, and Clarke turned enough to be able to grab at his hair, drawing his face down to hers as she pressed into him. All thought was lost in the feel of his soft curls and the firm pressure of his fingers that drew her closer to his chest while he stole her breath away.

There was a sound in her room that, for a moment, she couldn't place, a high pitched whimper that she eventually realized was coming from her.

Bellamy's lips seared her skin, his free hand dragging up her throat to hold her in place as his tongue swept into her mouth. There was nothing innocent about his kiss, not when every brush of his lips claimed another piece of her.

Tiny spots of light sparked behind her closed eyelids and she lost herself in the feel of him.

Every breath was a mixture of sunshine and warmth that she would forever associate with Bellamy. Every touch was a brand against her pale skin. Every sound a benediction. Nothing would wash this moment away, but then he stopped, pulling away from her abruptly even though his arms still firmly held her against him.

"Bellamy?" she asked questioningly, her voice breathy even as she strained to bring her mouth back to his, but he remained stubbornly out of reach.

She struggled in his grasp, trying to turn herself to face him, but he held her firm, staring down into her face with a dark heat that made things clench low in her body.

"No Clarke." His voice was as gentle as his touch as he dipped his head for another kiss and spoke low against her feverish skin. "Not like this," he added when she tried to deepen the kiss, but only ended up with a frustrated sigh.

"Bellamy," she pleaded softly, reaching up to stroke his jaw, "I… I want you."

Clarke felt his arms tighten around her, she saw the hunger leap into his eyes and thought for the briefest of moments, that she had won, but then he looked away and she felt like a cool wave had washed over them. For a few awkward moments, she remained absolutely still in his arms, trying desperately not to be upset by his rejection, but in the end, she began to struggle away.

"Clarke," he said, desperately trying to hold onto her as she fought to make space between them. "Don't Clarke," he added sadly, but he let her go.

"It's okay. I'm, sorry. I'm just tired," she said with a weak laugh that wasn't fooling anybody.

"Clarke…" Bellamy reached for her, but she pulled away, scooting to the top of her bed and crawling under the covers.

"It's okay, Bellamy."

It was definitely not okay. She felt like an idiot, the biggest fool around, because for a moment, she had thought he wanted her. She'd thought it was real.

Maybe this was all a dream, a nightmare, and she'd wake up tomorrow morning and realize that she hadn't even had dinner with Lincoln and Octavia yet. Maybe she wouldn't have to wake up and face the fall out from this disastrous decision.

Maybe hell would freeze over while she slept.

Clarke pulled the blanket up around her shoulders and burrowed into her pillow. If she just closed her eyes right now she'd wake up and it would be over. Tomorrow he'd be gone and she'd find a receipt from her cab ride home and know that she'd imagined all of it. It was a lot to hope for, but damned if she wasn't wishing with all her heart for it to happen.

The last thing Clarke remembered hearing was her bedroom door close and then she sank blissfully into the heavy blackness.

 **A/N:**

 **Thank you to everyone who liked, followed, or reviewed after last chapter. It means the world to me that people are still interested in this story! Your support and encouragement truly is amazing.**

 **If I don't answer comments or questions on here, please know that it isn't because I don't see them. I read them as soon as I get the notifications and I appreciate each and every one! Also, please keep in mind that I write and edit all of my own work, so there will be some grammatical errors that I inevitably miss. I'm sorry, but please just bear with me. I try to do as thorough a job as I can, but no one can look at 20k words without missing a few things. I know it breaks the immersion and I am really very sorry! I hate it in other fics and I hate it in my own writing just as much!**

 **If there is ever an abrupt change from paragraph to paragraph please assume that I forgot that doesn't consider spaces as page breaks and just mushes everything together. When I copy and paste things from the software I use to write to here, I very often forget to go back and add the little - that I usually use to indicate a break. Same goes for italicized words. I can't for the life of me figure out why those don't transfer to here, but they don't for whatever reason. I guess it's just going to be readers choice for which words should be emphasized and what parts are text messages etc. :/**

 **This is a huge chapter, I know, but I couldn't find a good stopping point. Future chapters will definitely not be this big! This one is a little bit lighter than last chapter as well, but I wouldn't get used to that either. There is still plenty of Bellarke angst to explore! Hope you enjoyed the chapter! 3**


	9. Through the Looking Glass

"I like him." Through the kitchen window, Clarke watched as the new horse handler turned the horses out into the pasture. She was enjoying being back on the ranch again after so long away, and seeing the easy way that he handled the task put her at ease. He would be a good fit.

"He's efficient," Indra said noncommittally, shooing Clarke away from the window and back towards the breakfast nook.

Coming from Indra, 'efficient' was high praise and Clarke could tell just by observing them together the last few days that they would get on well enough. He was perhaps younger than Indra would have liked, she wasn't much for 'babysitting' as she put it, but he was calm, gentle and the horses responded well to him which was something that Indra could admire, seeing as how she was terrified of horses herself.

Clarke would never forget the one and only time she'd convinced Indra to go for a ride with her. At the time, she'd been about sixteen, and her father wouldn't let her take the horses out on the fire trail alone, so she'd wheedled and cajoled, using only her largest puppy eyes, until Indra had thrown up her hands and agreed to go, if for no other reason that to get Clarke to stop.

Later, when her father was talking to her about responsibility and lack of patience, she'd felt terrible, but at the time, all Clarke could think was that it was a beautiful day, her father was busy, and she wanted to go for a ride. How was she to know that Indra would react so negatively the first time her horse balked at going through a little bit of water?

Luckily, other than a few scrapes, everybody made it out alright, a fact which she'd relayed to her father several times during his lecture for all the good it had done. Abby had scolded her and she'd been grounded for a week, but nothing was as bad as Indra's punishment.

Two weeks of near silence from Indra had driven Clarke to tears. When the dam finally broke, she'd apologized profusely and swore never to pressure Indra into getting on one of the horses ever again. Clarke would have promised anything at that point just to get her friend and confidante back, but luckily, Indra had gone easy on her.

A week of helping in the kitchen and washing all of their dishes by hand had been penance enough, and after that, their relationship had shifted back to something like normal. Although, Indra's dislike of all things equine had increased dramatically after that. Even now, Clarke wondered if things would be different if Indra had never taken that one disastrous ride.

"Stop thinking so hard," Indra said with a smile as she sat down across from Clarke. As soon as Clarke returned the smile with an apologetic grin for not having been listening, Indra picked up Clarke's tablet and started looking over wedding plans again.

Octavia had emailed Clarke several new things that morning, bits and pieces of things that she wanted to incorporate into their engagement party, and Clarke was discussing the more practical possibilities with Indra over breakfast.

"This girl must be crazy if she thinks all of this will work." It went without saying that Indra was going to take issue with the house being turned upside down, but Clarke knew that to really pull off something spectacular, she needed Indra's help. No one knew the house better, not even her mother, so she's been trying really hard to ignore the eye rolls and harrumphing in favor of focusing on the positive.

"Not crazy, just excited," Clarke acknowledged with a grin as she leaned over the table and used her finger to swipe through the list of photos showing everything from simple country weddings to elaborate Catholic affairs in huge Cathedrals.

"The lights we can manage," Indra said, stopping Clarke on a photo of big oak trees hung artfully with tiny twinkling lights. In the soft glow of late evening, the photo looked like a fairytale and it was one of the few photos that Clarke had been really drawn to out of the most recent batch of ideas that Octavia had spammed her. "We can get the new boy to help with it."

"Boy?" Clarke laughed, her eyes twinkling behind her glasses as she glanced back out the window where she could just barely see the 'boy' in question.

Nyko was thirty if he was a day, and at nearly six feet, he dwarfed both Clarke and Indra, making the word 'boy' seem silly regardless of context.

"It's strange for a man of his age not to have a wife and family," Indra said ignoring Clarke's incredulous look. Neither she or Indra had a spouse or children, so it seemed a little hypocritical for them to judge Nyko for being the same way. "I hope he doesn't get any ideas while he's staying here," Indra added with a dark frown.

Clarke wasn't sure if Indra meant he might try something with Clarke herself, or if it was Indra's own virtue that she thought might be in question, but either way, it set off a fit of giggles that earned Clarke a glare and light swat on the arm.

"Indra I don't think he's going to spend very much time with us at all." Clarke tried and failed to stop laughing, imagining Indra fending off flirty innuendo like one of her trashy romance novels. "He seems pretty shy," she added when she was finally able to choke back the last of her laughter, shoving her glasses on top of her head so that she could wipe moisture away from her eyes.

"Well as long he stays in the guest house and out of my hair we'll get along fine." Indra sipped a bit of coffee and continued scrolling through the rest of the pictures on Clarke's tablet, signaling that the topic was closed.

Clarke was perfectly content to let it drop. If Indra needed to grumble a little bit until everyone got used to each other, Clarke would listen quietly and let it sort itself out. She knew that needing the extra help chafed with Indra who was used to being completely independent and in control of her little world on the ranch. It was a small miracle that the hiring process had gone this smoothly thus far, and Clarke wasn't about to upset things by unnecessarily irritating Indra.

Nyko was one of three that Indra had narrowed dozens of applicants down to for Clarke's approval and Clarke had known as soon as she'd met him, several weeks ago now, that he'd be perfect. Indra clearly favored him over the others, although Clarke doubted she'd ever admit it, and he struck Clarke as very respectful which put her mind at ease about letting him stay there alone with only Indra to look after things. Her life was hectic enough without having to keep an eagle eye on the new horse handler.

Clarke had been at the ranch since Thursday, interviewing the remaining applicants and getting things prepared for Octavia and Lincoln's arrival on Saturday, and she was starting to feel the strain. Luckily, she was nearly finished.

Just as she was thinking about how well she'd actually done managing her time and tackling hurdles that had once seemed impossible, her phone rang, startling her out of her thoughts. Clarke dug in her pocket quickly to quiet the shrill ringing. Somehow her phone always seemed too loud when she was away from the city, as if technology didn't quite belong out here in her safe little nook.

"What's up buttercup?" Clarke said into her phone, smiling at Indra, who used to say the exact same thing to her, from her seat across the table.

"Nothing, I was just wondering if it would be okay if a brought a few extra people with me this weekend?" Octavia, never one for small talk when she was in a rush to get her plans out, dispensed with greetings in favor getting straight to the point. It took Clarke a second to catch with the conversation, jarred as she was by Octavia's announcement. "We decided that we wanted a DJ instead of a band and my friend Jasper is actually a really good amateur DJ, so I was thinking that he might come down with us and look at the area where he can set up so that he can get an idea of what he needs to bring."

"Sounds good, I'll get a bedroom ready for him," Clarke said taking her coffee mug to the sink and rinsing it out. "Wait do you mean Jasper like the Jasper that works at TonDC?"

"Yeah, he knows you." Octavia chattered away about how great he was and how much fun it would be to have a few more people come with her this weekend while Clarke tried to come to terms with another of her coworkers discovering where she lived. "It will be like a mini party," Octavia said excitedly, bringing Clarke back from her worried thoughts abruptly.

"Wait how many is a few more?" Clarke asked, trying to piece together the scraps of information Octavia was giving her between squeals of excitement and random observations.

"Well Jasper doesn't go anywhere without Monty, so Monty. He works with you too. And, well… Bellamy," Octavia added hesitantly.

"Bellamy?" Clarke asked with a weary sigh.

"Look I know that you guys have something weird going on right now, but he really has been trying to be friendlier with Lincoln and he's actually really good at helping plan these sorts of things. Don't let that garbage can he calls a truck fool you, he's got a great eye for aesthetic. So… I just thought that maybe you guys could bury the hatchet for just one night and he already swore that he would be on his best behavior so…" Octavia rushed, but Clarke cut her off.

"You already invited him?"

"Well, yeah sort of," Octavia replied apologetically. "I mean not really. I just mentioned that we were going and I was talking to him about Jasper and Monty, and it just kind of happened."

"Oh Octavia," Clarke said with a defeated sigh, rubbing her hand over her face as if it could clear away her problems.

"I'm sorry Clarke." Octavia's voice was sad, and Clarke felt guilty for ruining the mood, but she really didn't want to see Bellamy. "I can just tell him it's canceled. It's no big deal. I'm sure he'll underst-"

"No it's fine. There's plenty of room and I'm sure we can find a way to avoid each other." Anxiety clawed at Clarke's throat, but she spit the words out anyway. This engagement party was about making memories for Lincoln and Octavia, and if they wanted Bellamy to be there this weekend to help plan, Clarke wasn't going to stand in the way, even if it meant an incredibly awkward weekend for her.

"Thanks." The sincerity in Octavia's voice was touching and made all the nervous energy currently coursing through her body worth it, Clarke thought, looking up at the ceiling and praying for deliverance.

"No problem," Clarke said and then forced a smile even if no one else could see it. Octavia sounded so happy and it touched Clarke that a gesture as small as this could bring such joy to a friend. She'd endure Bellamy's presence a hundred times over just to see Octavia and Lincoln happy. "I've got to get the other rooms ready so I better get off here."

Clarke turned her back to the sink and leaned against the counter, avoiding Indra's probing stare. She hadn't exactly mentioned anything about her personal life to the other woman since she'd been back and she was hoping to keep it that way.

"Oh okay. Well I'll see you tomorrow then!"

"See you then," Clarke said and laughed when Octavia said 'toodles' and hung up.

"I'm guessing we have more work to do?" Indra asked as she stepped up beside Clarke and slung an arm around her waist.

"That we do." Clarke returned Indra's squeeze, but she was staring off into space, mentally preparing a new to-do list.

What had started out as a great plan for her weekend off had turned into an anxiety inducing, half baked 'mini party' with one of her least favorite people. Even thinking about seeing Bellamy again made her stomach twist, but rather than dwell on the negative, Clarke shoved her phone in her pocket and headed upstairs to get to work, trying really hard to push back thoughts of _that_ night.

The morning after Octavia and Lincoln's announcement dinner, Clarke woke up with a pounding headache and an acid stomach. Rolling over, she groaned and thought seriously about puking.

The apartment was quiet and still, late morning sun filtering through the partially closed curtains as Clarke struggled into a sitting position and reached for the half full glass of water on her nightstand. Noticing the two tylenol tablets beside the glass, she popped them into her mouth and swallowed them down quickly with a few gulps of water.

After she'd determined that her stomach wasn't about to revolt, Clarke crawled out of bed and made her way to the bathroom. Clothes fell in a heap on the floor as she started the shower and adjusted the settings with shaky fingers.

When the water was just short of scalding, Clarke stepped in, letting the hot jets massage stiff muscles while she lathered her hair and tried not to think about how much her almond scented soap smelled like breakfast. If she thought about food, she'd probably throw up all over herself and then she'd just have to start over again. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and let the water wash away the offending suds.

By the time she made it out of the bathroom, the sun had risen high in the sky and her fingers and toes were pruney, but it didn't matter. She felt marginally more human and that's all she cared about. Slipping on a soft pair of sweats and an old t-shirt, Clarke dragged her tortured body into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.

To her surprise, the coffee was already prepared, she just had to turn it on, and next to the machine was a folded piece of paper under a white paper bag.

Picking up the note, she opened it and read through the short missive quickly.

 _Left for work. Got you donuts. Be back later._ It wasn't signed, but Clarke's murky recollection of the previous evening left little doubt about who'd written it.

Bellamy. He had been here, in her apartment, and she was almost positive they'd kissed. No matter how hard she tried to deny it, her brain refused to believe that the feel of his soft, warm lips, lips that seemed vaguely familiar even all these hours later, was part of any dream even _her_ wildly imaginative brain could have conjured up.

A hot flush colored her cheeks and she dropped the note like it was on fire, stepping quickly away from the coffee maker for good measure.

Bellamy had made the coffee. He'd bought her donuts. Hell, he'd even left her some pain killers and water on her bedside table. Something about all of that felt wrong, too intimate maybe. Clarke wasn't sure what exactly was bothering her, but an uneasiness in her chest refused to go away no matter how hard she tried to shove it down.

Part of her wanted to refuse the kindness, pitch the donuts in the trash, dump the coffee out and exorcise any hint of Bellamy's touch from her private space, but that would be ridiculous. After a second, she turned back around, snatched the bag of donuts off the counter, along with a steamy mug of freshly brewed coffee and headed for the couch.

If she had to be mortified about last night, at least she'd be able to do it with a stomach full of junk food and good coffee, she thought as she selected a pastry at random and turned on the TV. At some point she must have dosed off again, because she was jolted awake by a loud rapping on her door.

Startled, Clarke nearly fell off the couch in her haste to sit up, scattering bits of donut all over the floor as she rose. Almost no one, except delivery people, ever came to her house, so she was fairly sure she knew who was on the other side of her door, but she checked the peephole just in case.

With a sigh, she slid the cover back in place and opened the door for Bellamy to come in. It wasn't like pretending she wasn't home was an option at this point. He'd probably heard her fall off the couch and he knew better than anyone that she couldn't have gone anywhere in her car seeing as how it was stranded at TonDC.

"Good morning," he said with a large smile as she stepped back to let him through the door.

"Is it?" she grumbled, closing the door behind him and trying not to notice how his t-shirt clung to the planes of his back as he walked away from her.

"You have donut in your hair." The comment was made while his back was to her, but then he took a seat at the island and spun the stool so he could look at her fully, making it that much more embarrassing.

"Of course I do." Clarke angrily brushed bits of sticky sugar out of her hair while her face flamed.

Stalking towards the kitchen with as much grace as someone severely hungover can, Clarke comforted herself with the fact that even though she looked like a slob with food in her hair, she was indeed wearing pants so things could have been worse. Half of the time she ran around the loft in a t-shirt and underwear, so they were both lucky that the most embarrassing thing she'd done in the past hour was smear a little donut in her hair!

"You've got some here too," he said when she was a few feet away, reaching out to rub his thumb along her lower lip.

Clarke gasped at the familiar touch, but didn't pull away. Instead, she watched in fascination as his pupils dilated and his pulse jumped in his throat. He was so absorbed in the movement of his thumb over her lip that he didn't notice her stare, but when her breath caught, his eyes flew up to hers and she flushed all over again.

Bellamy dropped his hand away so quickly that Clarke felt the air move across her face from its passing. She ducked her head and started talking, as nervous butterflies took flight in her stomach.

"So about last night," she said, rushing to fill the awkward silence that followed. "I'm sorry. I was drunk and I don't know what all I said or did, but I'm sure I made an ass out of myself and I just wanted to say thank you for… for everything."

"Don't mention it," he said and turned away from her with an indistinguishable look in his eyes that inexplicably made Clarke feel bad.

"Did you want something to drink?" Clarke asked as she anxiously puttered around in the kitchen, moving things around on the counter and studiously refusing to look at him again. There wasn't really anything to do in the kitchen, no cups needed to be faced forward, the toaster was already in the perfect spot, but she needed to keep her hands busy so she didn't do anything stupid.

"No, I'm good."

Clarke looked back at him, but he was still avoiding her gaze.

"So… are we going to get my car now?" she asked after a few moments of silence.

"Yeah." His eyes finally met hers, but the look in them was bland, not a hint of his true thoughts peaking through. "Get dressed and we'll go ahead and go."

Like a coward, Clarke scampered off to her bedroom before she could say anything to betray her anxiety, threw on the first pair of jeans and t-shirt she found, and then slipped on some loose sandals. Her hair was a mess, so she pulled it into a clumsy bun and slipped on her glasses instead of putting in her contacts. With one final glance in the mirror, mostly for encouragement, she headed back out to the kitchen and stood near the door until Bellamy followed.

He was already down the stairs and outside by the time she got her deadbolt locked and she sighed as she walked sedately after him. The long ride to TonDC was almost guaranteed to be the most awkward thing she'd done in awhile and she wasn't looking forward to it. Maybe they could just put on some music and avoid conversation all together.

Lucky for her, Bellamy apparently had the same idea, because as soon as she was buckled in, he turned up the radio loud enough to discourage conversation, but not loud enough to really bother her throbbing head, and turned out into traffic.

The streets were busy, like they always were this time of day, but it didn't bother her, not today when she was trying desperately to conquer both her hangover and the awkward stuffiness inside the cab of Bellamy's truck. If he was concentrated on the traffic, he couldn't focus on her, and that meant she had one less thing to worry about. Win, win.

After what seemed like an eternity of avoiding eye contact and trying not to barf all over herself, they pulled into TonDC's dull gray parking lot. Bellamy parked several rows down from her car, a fact for which she was grateful. With any luck, everyone would be inside the building and she'd be able to make a quick dash to her car without anyone ever knowing that she'd ridden here with Bellamy.

"Clarke." Bellamy's quiet voice stilled her hand when she reached for the door handle, and she paused, but didn't turn to look at him.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she sat stiffly against the door, waiting for him to say what he needed to say. She owed him at least that after all he'd done for her last night, so she waited, back rigid and painfully straight, as she tried to control her breathing. Every fiber of her being was screaming at her to get out of the truck and run as far and as fast as her feet could carry her, but that would be childish and she wouldn't allow herself that escape. Not now, not ever.

There was only one thing to do, and that was to take a deep breath, and ride it out. She could only pray that he'd let it go, let her go, before either of them did or said something that would make it impossible to work together ever again. It wasn't like their relationship had been hearts and roses before, but something like this could ruin reputations and destroy careers.

Not his, she thought bitterly. He would get a slap on the wrist in public and a pat on the back in private, but she would be forever labeled as 'that slutty doctor that slept with someone's fiance and then with Captain Blake' and she wanted no part of that future.

"Yes?" she prompted nervously after several moments of silence.

"Nothing," Bellamy said with a sigh so weary that she could feel the defeat in his voice like a physical weight on her heart.

Part of her, the logical part, knew that she was being shitty. It knew that running away made her immature and weak, but the emotional part of her brain, the part that made her human, was screaming at her to get the hell out of the truck before some irreparable damage was done.

"Thanks," she said and pushed open the door. In the span of a heartbeat, she was out of the truck and power walking to her car, not looking left or right only straight ahead, one single goal, getting the hell away from TonDC, eclipsing every other thought.

When she was only steps away from her car, someone called her name and she knew without having to look that it was Bellamy. She'd recognize his deep baritone anywhere.

"Clarke," he called again as she came to a halt in front of her driver's side door. She didn't turn to look at him, but she stopped to listen to what he had to say anyway. "You forgot your purse." His voice was quiet and he spoke directly to her back, but he was close, close enough that his breath ruffled the baby hairs on the nape of her neck, and the intimacy of his proximity made her shiver. "And your keys," he added when she didn't immediately turn around.

With a weary sigh at her own stupidity, Clarke turned to face him, and saw that he had a small smile on his lips. Apparently her inability to function like a normal human being around him was funny, she thought, trying not to be bitter about it. This was good, he was smiling, no one was in the parking lot to witness her embarrassment, all she had to do was reach out and take her keys from his outstretched hand and this would be over. He'd go back to his truck, she'd get in her car and they'd both drive away, never to think of or mention this incident again, but that wasn't what happened.

Sure, she extended her hand to take her things just like her brain was telling her to do, but just as her fingers clutched her purse, his touched the sensitive skin of her wrist and her eyes flew to his. The heat from his gaze was enough to set anyone ablaze, but as searing as his look was, every other part of him was stone cold and rigid.

She watched a vein ticking away near his temple, saw the twitching muscles in his jaw and took a moment to study those tiny details curiously. Everything was assessed and cataloged in her brain without conscious thought, but after the intensity of the initial connection, she refused to meet his eyes again.

Something in his gaze was too raw for her to process at that moment and the entire situation was too overwhelming for her to handle while her emotions were a wreck. She felt vulnerable and a tiny bit afraid of what might happen if she thought about anything too hard, so her brain did what it did best and helped her shut it down, all of it.

There was no Bellamy, blazing suggestive looks down at her, no tingling on her skin where their bodies touched, no sensory memories of his lips on hers. There was only the knowledge that if she let it, this situation, whatever the hell it was, would sweep her away on a tidal wave of feelings best left undiscovered and very likely drown her in the process.

It was too soon after Finn, too inconceivable with Bellamy, and certainly too much for any sane person to handle with a raging hangover. Disengaging wasn't about being insensitive to him or his needs, it was simply self preservation and she was all too happy to allow her analytical side to take over and steer her clear of whatever storm was brewing between them.

"Thank you," she said with quiet detachment, slipping her her hand away from his carefully so as to avoid additional skin to skin contact.

Turning on her heel, she clicked her key fob, jerked open her door and slipped inside, letting the familiar scent of her tropical air freshener wash away the linger smell of Bellamy's cologne. By the time she managed to get her car started and glance out the window, Bellamy was nowhere in sight. He'd vanished in a way that was as unnerving as it was impressive and for the entire drive out to the interstate, she flicked quick glances at her mirrors, half expecting him to reappear around every turn.

To say that the work week that followed was awkward would be the understatement of the century. Clarke cringed as she spread fresh sheets in the last of her guest rooms and thought about the one and only time she'd left her office to sneak into the break room for a cup of coffee and had immediately run right into him. Literally.

She'd dropped her cup with a gasp, watching in horror as one of her favorite mugs, a gag gift from Wells, that read 'I frequently engage in full frontal nerdity,' shattered on the floor between them, splattering the dregs of her last cup all over his neatly polished boots.

"What's the matter?" Indra asked, walking into the room and stopping to take in Clarke's pink cheeks.

"Nothing," Clarke answered, turning away from Indra's perceptive stare, and willing away the memory of the scramble to clean up her mess while Bellamy's friends laughed. It didn't matter that he'd bent down to help her. It didn't matter that he'd had a sympathetic look in his eyes when he glanced between the other guards smiling faces and her horrified one. It didn't even matter that he'd tried to follow her when she fled.

The only thing that mattered was the knowledge that any hope she'd held onto about everything being able to go back to normal, something which she desperately needed, had shattered all over those ugly tiles along with her mug.

"This boy that's coming," Indra said, slipping around the bed to help tuck in the corners of the sheets, "is he the one that you brought with you before? The charming one?" she asked, the disgusted tone of her voice making it glaringly clear how she felt about 'charming' people.

"Finn? No. Oh god no!" Clarke reassured her quickly and was surprised when the usual rush of pain and embarrassment she felt after saying his name, didn't come.

A frown creased her forehead as she tugged and flattened, keeping her hands busy while avoiding Indra's gaze and trying to organize her thoughts. However odd the missing reaction was, she was grateful for it's absence. It seemed like an eternity had passed since her disastrous weekend with Finn and the resulting fallout, but not until that moment had she realized that something about her feelings towards the situation had changed.

Sure, there was still the guilt she felt for not having known Finn was engaged, the shame of having publicly humiliated herself, and the horror of having almost let it ruin her career, but the sharp sting of rejection and heart squeezing pain of love lost, was gone. And unlike many of her past breakups, the hurt hadn't been replaced with anger or resentment. In fact, the more she took the time to study her thoughts and feelings, the more she realized that what she was feeling more than anything else was indifference.

"Clarke?" Indra called, waving a hand in front of her face.

"Hmm? I'm sorry, what? Did you say something?" Clarke asked as her brain shifted back to the present.

"I asked who it is that you are so worried about coming here this weekend. If this person makes you feel that uncomfortable, then they shouldn't be here," Indra said firmly, taking Clarke by the arm and leading her to sit down on the bed.

Clarke recognized their relative positions, side by side and facing each other, as an indication that they were about to have "a talk" and she wasn't looking forward to it, but knew there was really no way of getting around it either. If she'd only been a little more careful to guard her thoughts and expressions, Indra might never have known that anything was bothering her, but she hadn't and there was no chance that Indra would leave it alone once she'd identified something that she felt needed to be addressed for Clarke's own good. This life long habit was almost as annoying as it was endearing and Clarke smiled a little as Indra took her hand and stared at her expectantly.

"His name is Bellamy. He's Octavia's brother and we work together at TonDC." Indra raised an eyebrow, clearly not understanding how any of those statements would lead to Clarke's current anxiety level.

Dispensing with the rest of the preliminaries that she might have bothered with if she were talking to someone else, someone who understood her less, Clarke took a deep breath and jumped right to the heart of the problem. "Earlier this week I went to a sort of engagement announcement dinner for Octavia and Linc, and I had a little to much to drink and I, um… well I sort of let him drive me home and made out with him. And now everything at work is weird and I've been avoiding him, but Octavia already invited him here, and I have no idea what to say to him to make things normal again," she rushed out, only stopping to take a breath when she was finished.

Her cheeks were flaming and her pulse was jumping around in her chest, but to her surprise Indra let out a snort of laughter. After an incredulous look from Clarke, Indra adjusted her features back into something more closely resembling the disapproval that Clarke had been anticipating, but laughter lingered around her eyes.

"You shouldn't drink to excess, Clarke." Indra used her best mothering voice, and Clarke nodded miserably in agreement.

Fully expecting a lecture about the evils of alcoholism, a brief tour through all the symptoms of depression and some worried discussion about her general pallor and over all well being, Clarke hung her head and waited for the inevitable, but to her continued surprise, Indra moved on quickly.

"So you kissed this boy and now you are nervous about what? That he'll come here and you won't be able to keep your hands off him?" she asked, a grin playing around her lips as she tried and failed to keep her dour countenance intact.

"No!" Clarke cried indignantly.

"Does his sister not approve? Are you worried that you'll do something to embarrass yourself in front of your friends? He must really be something if you're this worried about seeing him again even though you've worked together all this time!"

"What? Of course not! I'm not going to do _anything_ with Bellamy ever again. Jesus Indra!" Clarke gasped, half shocked and half amused by the unexpected turn in their conversation.

"There's no need for that kind of language," Indra said with a hint of real disapproval, but then she sighed, glancing out the window before she turned her eyes back to Clarke.

"You are an intelligent, independent woman Clarke and it's never been my way to tell you how you should live your life, but I'm worried about you." Again, Indra turned away to look out the window, perhaps to give Clarke enough time to decide how she felt about the seriousness of her words or maybe she was just trying to organize her thoughts. It was hard to tell what Indra was thinking even after having lived her entire life under the older woman's watchful gaze.

"You may be young and tempestuous at times, but you're also kind and sensitive, and strong when you need to be. I trust you to make your own decisions about what's best for you and what you need physically and emotionally from a partner, but I also know how harsh you can be when you are determined to punish yourself."

Clarke's brows knit together as she tried and failed to keep her anger in check. Indra wasn't doing this out of malice, and Clarke knew that, but it was hard to remain calm and quiet while someone equated your deepest thoughts and feelings to self flagellation, even if that someone was a much loved friend.

"I'm not punishing myself," Clarke gritted out, keeping her voice even through sheer force of will. "I don't choose bad relationships as some screwed up form of repentance. They just happen. I had no idea that Finn would turn out to be a lying, cheating, piece of shit. I never wanted that and I especially didn't want to publicly humiliate myself by starting an affair with someone who's fiance I work with!"

"Clarke," Indra said in a warning tone. "I'm not saying that you wanted that. What I'm saying is that you are smart enough to recognize the good ones from the bad ones. As soon as I looked at you with him, I could see that you felt it too. He was rotten from the inside out and no amount of charming smiles or sweet words could hide it." There was a brief pause in which Indra dipped her head enough to catch Clarke's downcast eyes, followed by a look that held neither pity or judgment, only understanding.

Clarke's eyes welled with tears almost immediately and she looked down again as Indra reached out to take both of Clarke's hands in her own.

"You know when they are good and when they aren't. Stop settling for people who aren't worth everything you have to offer just because you're scared you'll never fill the hole Jake left when he died," Indra demanded quietly, but with passion.

Pain instantly bloomed in Clarke's chest, clawing at the anxious, uncertain part of herself that she tried to hide from everyone. To reveal that part of herself would mean showing them her weakness and if she did that, they would know, with certainty, that no matter how strong she tried to appear, deep down she was lost.

"One day you're going to wake up and realize that you've wasted your entire life struggling to force yourself to be happy, when all you needed to do was let go of what you think you need and other people's perception of what you should be, and just be you. Clarke… you are brilliant and beautiful. I love you, your father loved you, and your life has value even if you can't always see it. Jake would be proud of the woman you've become, but he wouldn't want you to push yourself like this. He wouldn't expect you to be perfect."

Beneath Indra's words, they both knew what she left unsaid. Her father would not have wanted her to turn into her mother. No matter how much he loved her, Jake Griffin would not have wished his wife's cold, calculated life on his only daughter. He wanted her to have love and passion, happiness and carefree abandon. That was who her father was, and that was the life he'd wanted for her.

Clarke could almost hear his voice whispering in her head, telling her to chase her dreams, because he never would have held her back, but warning her not to let ambition consume her. He would tell her that they weren't put on this earth to just go to work and die and then he'd smile and pull her into a one armed bear hug until she laughed.

Jake Griffin would have chuckled at her nervousness over seeing Bellamy again and he may even have smiled a little at her story of over indulgence and bad decisions. She knew that he would never have judged her for what happened with Finn. Knowing that didn't stop the guilt or keep her from feeling that she was letting him down though.

"Anyone that would make you loose your sense of self worth isn't anyone worth spending time worrying about," Indra finished quietly, pulling Clarke back from memories of light hearted conversations about life, that she'd shared with her father.

When Clarke looked into Indra's soft brown eyes, she choked on a sob and flung her arms out to wrap the other woman in a tight hug. Years of anxiety and pain coupled with pushing herself to perform beyond what she knew she was capable of, had taken more of a toll on her than she'd let herself realize and Indra's words, though painful to acknowledge as true, were like a lance to the festering wound that had been nesting near her heart ever since her father was torn away from her and her perfect life had started falling apart.

Indra's hand ran soothing circles up and down Clarke's back, but there were no soft words or well meant hushes. She was not trying to staunch Clarke's outflow of emotion, only let her know through the strong and steady rhythm of her hands, that she wasn't alone, that no matter what transpired in their lives, her love was constant and without condition.

In the circle of their joined arms, Clarke found the catharsis she'd been seeking since her debacle with Finn as well as the knowledge that no matter how hard she tried to repress it, she still had not recovered from her father's death.

As painful as it was to acknowledge, this was a small step towards healing, but a part of her wondered if she would ever truly be free of that pain. Would there ever be a time when she would look back on her memories with only happiness of what experiences they'd shared in the time that he was with them?

For so long she'd refused to look at it too closely, sure that if she peeled back the scab, all of the anguish and feelings of being adrift that had overwhelmed her when he died, would come rushing back to crush her all over again. But there she sat, pouring her pain out onto Indra's shoulder, and her carefully constructed world had not ended. For the first time in a long time, her tears felt cleansing and a little part of the fear she'd held onto ever since the nightmares began, washed away with them.

Reality suggested that she may never fully recover from the loss, as abrupt and turbulent as the events surrounding it had been, but in that moment, she knew that she'd taken a positive step forward and gained an integral foothold towards understanding herself and dealing with the pain she'd tried so hard to run away from.

Without getting bogged down in psychological arguments like the ones Wells had tried so often in the past, Indra had simply turned a mirror on her soul and presented her with her own reflection, allowing Clarke to choose to see the truth if that was what she wanted. If she was ready.

Self reflection was hard for anyone. No one wanted to look too closely at themselves and realize that they didn't like what they saw, but once begun, the fear of the unknown that had kept her paralyzed in a state of emotional stagnation, lessened and she realized that she could do it if she wanted. She could face this, face herself, and come out the other side whole.

Even though she'd been telling herself exactly that for years, today was the first time that she truly felt like it was possible. Perhaps it was everything with Finn that had broken down some of the barriers she'd put up to keep people out and her feelings in. Maybe it was just time.

Years removed from the tragic accident that had forever changed her life, perhaps now enough time had passed for her to face it. No more countless hours spent playing her life over and over again in her head looking for flaws and weaknesses. No more raging at her mother and trying to walk in both of her parents shoes. No more hiding, even from herself. It was time to face it.

This house was the perfect example of her refusal to move on, to deal with what happened. It was a representation of her inability to deal with her feelings both then and now.

Everything from her parent's perfectly preserved bedroom, to her insistence on buying all of her dad's favorite foods even though no one would be around to appreciate them, was a glaring declaration of her emotional dependence on an imaginary construct that she'd invented to help deal with the pain.

Maybe today _was_ the first step towards healing the hole in her heart, but she couldn't do that if she refused to live anywhere but in the past.

Perhaps now it was time to look in the mirror and see herself with all of her flaws, fears and insecurities, and know, really know, that it wouldn't bring her world crashing down around her head if she faced them. The horrible events in her life may always color her actions and reactions, but at least now she was ready to acknowledge what was happening, what she'd been doing to try to cope. With a little help from people she cared about, maybe… one day, she'd be able to close the door on her past and find the window into her future.

When they pulled apart, Clarke's eyes were red and swollen, and Indra's shoulder was damp, but both were smiling. Indra lifted her hand to Clarke's cheek and wiped away the last of her tears before taking her hands and pulling her up.

"We need to get the lanterns out of the attic if you are planning to show them to your friend," Indra said pulling Clarke toward the door.

Clarke laughed as she followed. Leave it to Indra to wring every single drop of emotion out of her and then act like she'd done nothing more serious than have a conversation about the weather. That was one of the best parts about their "talks." No matter how hard things were to say or what emotions those words elicited, you could count on Indra to go right back to business as usual as soon as their conversation was over.

"I'm right behind you," Clarke said as she broke away from Indra and headed toward the bathroom to wash her face.

After a quick splash of cold water, she took a moment to study herself. The bruise was mostly gone, almost impossible to see if you didn't already know it was there, and she was confident that even without makeup, Lincoln would never notice.

Her eyes were puffy and red, as was the tip of her nose, and she looked pale, even to herself, but underneath all of that was strength. Strength of mind, strength of will, and a new found determination to persevere.

With one last sigh, she left the bathroom and headed to the attic to help Indra bring the lanterns down.

She'd made it through the nightmare dinner last weekend. How much worse could this weekend be?

As it turned out the answer to her question was a lot. Things could get a _lot_ worse.

Ten minutes after Lincoln and Octavia arrived, one of Clarke's prized mares threw a shoe while Nyko was riding her, lost her footing and sent both horse and rider tumbling down a steep incline. Fortunately, Nyko wasn't hurt, but the same couldn't be said for her mare.

After two hours of panic and emergency vet services, the mare was resting comfortably in her stall while Clarke brushed her coat and looked over her bandaged foreleg with a worried frown.

Even though the vet had assured them that it was nothing more than deep bruising, Clarke couldn't help but worry that the horse might be permanently lame. It was such a sad thing to see a strong, beautiful animal waste away in a pasture, but there wasn't any question of putting her down.

No matter what happened, Clarke wouldn't do that. Couldn't do that. Brownie, named after her father's favorite food, had also been his favorite horse to take out on long, leisurely weekend rides. She would keep this horse for the rest of it's natural life even if that meant spending a ridiculous amount of money in upkeep for a lame animal.

As her fingers worked rhythmically over the fine soft hair of Brownie's coat, memories of laughter and picnics by the pond floated around in her brain, stirring up feelings she didn't want to face in front of a crowd.

Nyko had spent every possible second since the incident by Brownie's side, rubbing her forehead and soothing her with low words and soft pats. He'd apologized profusely, insisted that the fall was his fault, but Clarke knew better.

Things happened. It wasn't anyones fault, it was just a part of life, but despite her best efforts to reassure him that she didn't blame him, he was still hovering around the stall looking like he was about to face the firing squad and it was starting to really get under her skin.

After the emotional upheaval yesterday, she had hoped today would be at least a little less turbulent, but apparently the powers that be had decided that her weekend house party needed to start off with a bang, literally.

Fifteen minutes after Lincoln, who was inexplicably familiar with her new hire, had convinced Nyko to leave the stable long enough for Clarke to regroup, she'd been startled by a sound that could only be described as a small explosion and while running outside to investigate, she'd tripped over her two clumsy feet and landed face first in the dirt.

Groaning, Clarke got to her hands and knees, spitting bits of straw and grass out of her mouth, and noticed a pair of worn leather boots right in front of her face. With horror, Clarke lifted her eyes up the boots, past the dark jeans, and plain gray t-shirt, right into the half amused eyes of Bellamy Blake.

"Watch your step," he said casually, as he reached under her arms to lift her up.

More heat than any human person should be expected to hold, surged straight to her cheeks as she pushed away from him and tried to brush herself off. It was bad enough that she had to fall, was it really necessary for her to have to do it right in front of him? And then why did he have to be so nice about it? Sure, he was smirking in that super annoying way that made her fingers itch to slap him, but he had tried to help her up, and he hadn't made a huge deal about it that might have attracted everyone else's attention. Well, not yet anyway.

Rather than give him a chance to change his mind on how much embarrassment she needed to suffer, Clarke stepped around him and practically ran for the side entrance to her house, heading straight for the kitchen and up the back stairs so that, hopefully, she didn't encounter anyone else before she had a chance to clean up.

At the last possible moment before she hit the wooden planks of the porch, Clarke remembered what had initially made her run outside, and swerved to the right in time to see Jasper and Monty stepping out of a beat up old van with some kind of graffiti spray painted on the side.

It wasn't Jasper's usual vehicle, she was certain that she'd have noticed that beast if it had been parked at TonDC, but after looking it over, she came to the conclusion that it suited him.

Monty was walking around the side of the vehicle, clearly inspecting for damage, and once Clarke's eyes adjusted to the loud paint job, she noticed that they had blown a tire and ran into a portion of the fence lining the drive. Jasper was rubbing his hands along the side of the van the same way she'd been doing with Brownie, and she almost laughed when she saw that his lips were moving, clearly speaking tenderly to the van, but caught herself at the last moment.

She still had dirt, straw and bits of god knew what else all over her, and she didn't want to draw any curious eyes her way. Ducking behind the topiary by the front porch, Clarke snuck through the side door and sprinted up to her room. There wasn't time to do more than change clothes, run a brush through her tangled hair, and wash her face, because she was sure that her absence had already been noted, but it made her feel better to do even those small things.

When she bounced down the stairs, staring at her feet the whole time lest she trip and break her neck, she didn't notice the tall, dark figure lurking in the foyer. Not until she was a few feet from the door did she notice Bellamy standing there watching her. When she did notice, she let out a yelp that sound like a cat dying and nearly had a heart attack.

"Jesus Bellamy, that's not super creepy or anything," she said sarcastically as she walked passed him, heading for the front door.

"Clarke, we need to talk," he said, not responding to her gentle mockery.

"No Bellamy, we don't. We really don't." She refused to meet his eyes as she gripped the door handle and tried to make her escape.

"Clarke," he said in a warning tone, placing a hand on the door above her head for good measure. "You can't avoid me forever," he spoke quietly to her back.

"I'm not avoiding you Bellamy. We just don't have anything to say to each other."

"Well, you may not have anything to say to me, but I've got quite a few things to say to you," he growled, his warm breath tickling her ear.

"Well you don't have anything to say that I want to listen to," she snapped, turning around to glare at him. It took her all of two seconds to realize that she'd made the wrong move.

As soon as her back was pressed against the door, her neck craning up to look at him, she realized what a horrible mistake she'd made.

Everything about Bellamy Blake oozed sex appeal, from his snug fitting jeans to his adorably messy hair, and her body reacted immediately. Her heart sped to a gallop, her cheeks infused her face with heat and her mouth fell open of it's own accord.

After a moment, in which she tried to relearn how to breath and he smirked at her gaping up at him like a fish out of water, she shook her head and managed to tear her eyes away from him. He was close enough to her that it was difficult to look at anything that wasn't him, but she managed, craning her neck to the side in a way that was almost painful. It didn't matter though. She didn't have to see him to feel that he was there.

The air between them practically crackled with heat and she could feel her body pulsing towards him, seeking out the warmth that he was only too willing to give and it embarrassed her more than anything else she'd done that day. She'd fall on her damn face a hundred times if it meant she never had to be wedged between her front door and Bellamy's taut chest again!

"I've been trying to talk to you all week." His voice was soft, like he was speaking to a frightened animal and he took his hand away from the door, stepping back a little so she could breath.

Clarke let out a relieved sigh as soon as he stopped crowding her, and her pulse began to slow, but she still wasn't looking at him. She might sit and listen to what he had to say, but nothing in the world could have made her want to look at him again so soon after her hormone's little rebellion.

"Really, we don't have to do this." Clarke shifted from foot to foot and rubbed her hands over her crossed arms nervously. This was exactly the situation she'd been most afraid of when Octavia had warned her he was coming.

"Clarke," he said, reaching out a gentle hand to touch her, but he stopped just short of making contact. "I don't want things to be… weird," he added, dropping his hand with a sigh.

"I think it's a little too late for that." Clarke rolled her eyes at the floor, fighting for even a little of their normal banter. She couldn't see his smile, but she could feel it on her skin even without looking.

"I think you're right," he added with a laugh.

Against her better judgment, she glanced up at him and watched him run a frustrated hand through his hair, ruffling the dark, silky strands in a way that wasn't even remotely unattractive. In moments like this, when the hard ass facade fell away and his face was open, he looked so normal, so approachable and kind and Clarke was still struggling to process the change.

For the entire time they'd known each other, he'd been Captain Blake, super serious bad ass whose entire life revolved around ruining her days, but like this, when he was unguarded, he looked so much younger, so much happier, and it made her a little sad to think what his life must be like that he had to hide behind the other face so often.

"Look," Clarke said, trying to make peace and end things before the went any further. "I don't need to talk about it." She looked deep into his eyes and tried to put every ounce of sincerity she could muster into that look, but she wasn't sure he was buying what she was selling.

"I don't want to have some rom-com conversation where we talk about our feelings and realize we were always meant to be together Clarke," he said with an exasperated sigh. "I just want to do whatever it is you want me to do so that things can go back to normal between us. It's incredibly fucking awkward to try to explain to the guys why you start having fits the moment we're in the same room together."

"I don't do that," Clarke exclaimed, anger quickly replacing her embarrassment.

"You threw a coffee cup at me and ran out of the room like your ass was on fire," he pointed out, looking at her like she'd grown an extra head.

"I _dropped_ my mug because you startled me," she amended, glaring at him through slitted eyes. "And don't talk about my ass," she added as an afterthought, deepening her scowl to let him know she meant it.

"You threw yourself into a mop bucket the first time I passed you in the hall," he said crossing his arms over his chest, clearly settling in for a lengthy discussion. She didn't fail to notice how the muscles in his arms bunched as he folded them, but she tried not to let her appreciation show because it certainly wouldn't help her argument.

"I couldn't see that stupid bucket over the case file I was reading and I tripped!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air at the ridiculousness of what he said. "The inmates shouldn't leave that crap just laying around in the hall anyway. It's a safety hazard!"

"Well for you maybe."

"That patient file got soaked you know. I had to retype the whole damn thing because it smelled like lysol and urine. So did my shoe," she added through gritted teeth.

"You blew up a sandwich because you were too busy watching me make coffee." The smirk, which had somehow snuck onto his smug face sometime in the last thirty seconds, had turned into a full blown grin and Clarke's face was more flushed with anger now than embarrassment.

"I wasn't watching you do anything," she hissed, jabbing a finger into his chest.

"I've never seen meatballs do that in a microwave." Bellamy's tone was casual and he wasn't phased at all by her prodding.

"It didn't blow up," she gritted out, trying not to picture the way her sandwich looked after she'd left it in the microwave too long. The meatball sub looked like it had been mixed with a hand grenade and she was almost positive the break room would have a burnt sauce and meat smell for the next ten years, but damned if she was going to tell him that.

"You threw a prisoner at me rather than stop to listen to what I had to say."

Apparently there was no end to the stupid things she'd done in the past week. He didn't even have to argue with her about one particular incident when he could just pull another example out of his ass!

"That's ridiculous. I didn't throw him at you!" Clarke said in outrage. She'd barely pushed him and it really had been on accident anyway. She hadn't been trying to push him towards Bellamy so much as she was trying to get around him before Bellamy got close enough to talk to her!

"Fine, but I think we both know that you've been more spastic than usual this week, and people are starting to notice."

She blanched, putting together what he was actually trying to say. This talk wasn't about an apology or trying to patch up whatever semblance of a relationship they had left, it was about avoiding gossip. Of course he didn't want his name linked with hers. Finn's sloppy seconds weren't exactly a bragging point, she thought with a sick feeling in her stomach.

"No. It's not like that Clarke," he said quickly, taking in the look on her face with a worried frown. "No one is talking about… us," he added awkwardly. "But someone eventually will start wondering about your sanity if you can't keep it together. I'm not going to attack you at work you know." He grinned disarmingly down at her, but it did little to ease the anxiety rolling around in her chest.

"Okay," she said simply. What else was there to say? Sorry that I've been acting like a jackass? Sorry that you're name is being smudged because of your association with me? Maybe if she lied and said she didn't remember anything that happened that night, he'd just let it go and she could find a way to avoid him that was slightly less obvious.

"Okay?" he asked, dipping his head to look at her down turned face. "Just… okay?"

"Yeah. Just okay Bellamy. Jesus Christ, what do you want me to say?" she asked, throwing her hands up again and turning to face the door.

She was going outside and she was going to move on. This was going to be the best damn weekend she'd ever had even if she had to strangle everyone present to achieve it, and nothing Bellamy could say or do would stop her from accomplishing that goal.

"I want you to tell me what the hell your problem is!" Bellamy took her arm and carefully spun her around. "I didn't do anything to deserve whatever it is you're doing, or thinking about doing," he added when he noted her mutinous expression.

Clarke was saved from having to respond by Octavia bursting threw the door, which hit Clarke squarely in the back, sending her careening into Bellamy's chest with a thud.

"Oh. Hey Clarke, I was just looking for you." Octavia glanced at the two of them with a half curious, half worried stare as Clarke shoved away from him and brushed herself off like she could wipe away the feel of him with her hands. News flash, she couldn't.

"I was just coming out to check on everyone. I saw that Jasper had a flat, but I fell in the stable and had stuff all over me, so I came in to change before I called anyone. Does he have triple A or something?" Clarke asked, turning her back to Bellamy and following Octavia out the door.

"I don't know, but he messed up your fence sorta bad." Octavia stared nervously at Clarke through her long dark lashes.

"It's not a big deal." Clarke nearly laughed in relief. "It's nothing that can't be fixed." If Octavia only knew how much she'd rather deal with a broken fence and a flat tire than spend one more second with her brother!

"I will pay for it." Octavia took Clarke's hand and forced her to stop.

"No really, O. It's okay." Clarke's smile was genuine and it came easily, dispelling a little of the tension in her chest. "When I was twelve, Wells and I took the go cart out without permission while my mom was making phone calls and crashed it into that fence," she said pointing to a portion of the fence a little farther down than Japser's van, "and that flower bed, and that tree," she finished, pointing to the mighty oak in question. "I got a black eye and Wells broke his finger. It was the first time I ever really thought my dad was going to kill me," she added with a sad smile.

"You have a go cart?" Octavia asked excitedly, not picking up on Clarke's abrupt change in tone.

"Not anymore." Clarke laughed at Octavia's disappointed look as she hopped down the steps and started walking towards the clump of people standing around Jasper's van. "My dad gave it away the very next day."

Clarke thought she heard Bellamy mumble something that sounded like 'good' but she wasn't going to turn around and find out. There was no reason to start another argument, especially not with Octavia watching them.

"Clarke are you alright?" Lincoln asked immediately when he noticed them coming towards him. She didn't fail to notice the glare he shot Bellamy's way and would even admit that she sort of enjoyed it, but she just nodded her head and walked passed him to Jasper.

It wouldn't be a good idea to antagonize the fledgling relationship between them when Octavia was so certain they were making progress, but it was still nice to know that Lincoln at least, was on her team. She wondered briefly how she must look for him to ask her that, but then she let it go.

There was no telling what her face looked like. Flushed? Angry? A little bit sad? A combination of all three? It didn't really matter and she knew that Lincoln wouldn't pry.

"So, would you like for me to call a tow company?" Clarke reached into her pocket for her cell phone and flicked through her contact list. "I think I have the number for a local place."

"Oh my god Clarke," Jasper said throwing himself at her feet dramatically. "I'm so sorry that I wrecked your fence!" he exclaimed, taking her hands in his as he stared up at her with his huge eyes and pouty lips.

Clarke laughed at his theatrics and used their joined hands to pull him to his feet.

"Don't worry about it. We've got everything to fix it in the barn. No worries," she added with a shrug and then let out a squeal when Jasper scooped her up into his arms and whirled her around, only narrowly avoiding crashing into Monty who was standing behind him looking sheepish.

"I'm just glad everyone is okay," she said when Jasper finally set her back on her feet. "So, did you need me to call someone or…?"

"Oh no it's okay. The Beast barely has any damage." Jasper slapped the hood lovingly.

"Well surely you at least need to fix the tire?" Clarke glanced at pieces of rubber still clinging to the rim, doubtfully.

"Nope," he said popping his 'p' and taking her arm to lead her around the back where both doors were propped open to reveal an impressive amount of music equipment. "We've got a spare right there." Jasper pointed toward a dark spot in the depths of the van, but for the life of her, she couldn't see a tire.

He assured her it was there when she asked, however, Clarke wasn't about to go crawling through that tangled mess to help locate it, so she just made a noncommittal noise and nodded at him, smiling a little at his enthusiasm. She could see why Octavia liked him so much. His carefree, goofy demeanor was kind of charming in it's own way.

"And we will totally help fix your fence," Monty said quietly from behind her as he stared, exasperated at his friend who was in the process of throwing things around haphazardly in an attempt to get to the spare tire that, to be honest, she wasn't even sure existed underneath all of the bundles of cords and bits and pieces of music paraphernalia.

As Clarke turned around to smile at him, she wondered how often Monty had worn that exact expression when it came to dealing with Jasper's messes. They seemed like good friends, but Monty was clearly the more level headed of the two and she could imagine that, that led to lots of awkward apologies for Monty on Jasper's behalf.

"It's really no big deal. I'll get somebody out here next week to replace the post. I'd rather spend today going over plans and enjoying the beautiful weather." Clarke finished her statement with an soft, reassuring smile on her lips.

It was surprisingly easy to talk to these people even though they were practically strangers to her. Despite their work history, Clarke had never really had the opportunity to get to know them. They were different from everyone Clarke had ever met, and their unguarded emotions and honest reactions were refreshing after a lifetime of stuffy dinners filled with the emotionally repressed elite.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Nyko talking to Lincoln and wondered again how the two knew each other, but she figured that Lincoln would explain eventually, so she didn't bother thinking about it too hard. Especially not when she needed all of her attention to avoid being crushed by the heavy pieces of equipment being hurtled out of the van as Jasper dug deeper in search of the spare tire.

"Why don't we go inside and have a drink while your friends… figure this out," Indra said, having been observing the chaos from the beginning. She was clearly struggling to think of a polite way to talk about the mess in front of them and Clarke thought it was hilarious.

While she might be totally fine with their minor mishap, Indra ran a much tighter ship and Clarke could only imagine what she was thinking about the splintered wood and destroyed flower bed, not to mention the bits and pieces of food containers and empty gas station cups spilling out on the ground as Jasper grunted and cursed.

"Sounds good." Clarke hid her smile as she turned away from Jasper's racket. "We can show Octavia the lights," she added as she slid her arm through Indra's and then Octavia's, dragging them both with her as she walked toward the house.

Bellamy was standing off to the side, frowning at everyone and clearly itching to step in and put a stop to whatever disaster Jasper was about to unleash. His pained expression almost made her laugh. For a split second, their eyes met as she walked by him grinning and she watched as the corner of his mouth turned up just a bit.

"Come on Linc," Clarke called behind her. "You've probably seen most of it before, but I'm sure you could still use a drink."

Bellamy stayed with Jasper and Monty, but everyone else followed them into the kitchen including Nyko who was still talking quietly with Lincoln. It was curious because Clarke didn't think she'd seen him speak that much in the entire time she'd known him, which albeit hadn't been that long, but did include his entire interview. It was curious to say the least.

Several hours later, Jasper's van was road worthy again and the remaining debris had been cleared up while Clarke showed Octavia around the property, pleased with how much she seemed to be enjoying herself.

The sun was setting in a wash of dark pinks and purples, and Clarke was enjoying listening to everyone chatter away over dinner on the front lawn. A picnic table, set up in the exact spot Octavia wanted the actual tables to be, served as the perfect place to mingle over a good meal and a few drinks.

Clarke's end of the table was quiet, consisting mostly of people who had no desire to speak, like Nyko and herself, but she was content to observe Lincoln and Octavia who were busy swapping party ideas with Indra, Jasper, and occasionally Monty.

Surprisingly, Indra had taken to both of the "boys" sometime around when they'd offered to go outside and help her repair the flower bed that they'd unintentionally demolished. Indra had graciously accepted their help and had been pleasantly surprised by their enthusiasm and strict attention to her directions.

Clarke was relaxed despite the chaotic day, and was sipping a glass of wine, when Nyko's deep, but quiet voice broke the silence from their end of the table.

"I know she is special to you Clarke," he said as if they'd been speaking the whole time, and Clarke looked up at him startled. His eyes were serious and dared her to deny his statement, but Clarke couldn't even begin to imagine what he was talking about.

"Pardon?" She stared at him perplexed, but trying to understand. Whatever he was trying to convey must have been pretty serious for him to go out of his way to speak to her, and she wanted to respect his sacrifice by giving him the answer he wanted, but that was really hard to do when she had no idea what was going on.

"Brownie. I know she's special to you and I'm sorry that I hurt her." Nyko looked apologetic and nervous, like he'd been thinking about it all afternoon, but Clarke was too taken aback by his unintentionally private observation to notice his discomfort.

She had no idea how he knew that Brownie, above any of the other horses in the stable, was special to her. He was so new, and she didn't spend anywhere near enough time on the ranch for him to have already picked up her habits, but looking into his deep, steady gaze, she knew that somehow, however improbable it might seem, he knew.

"How," she began and then stopped when she realized that everyone at the table was looking at the two of them. Her cheeks flushed, but she cleared her throat and forced herself to continue. Stopping now would only make her look more ridiculous.

"Why do you think that Brownie is special to me?" There, she'd managed to frame the question in such a way that she was neither acknowledging or denying that this surprisingly perceptive man knew something intimate about her.

"Because you never ride her," he said into the hushed evening air.

Clarke looked at him strangely, and after a quick glance around the table to confirm that yes, their exchange _was_ being watched by every other person at the table, she turned questioning eyes back to him. What he said was true, she didn't ever ride Brownie. Perhaps she should have done, but she didn't. Riding her would be like kicking every pleasant memory of her rides with her father into the dust and she couldn't bear to do it.

"You never ride her, but you always visit her stall," he said again, obviously sensing the unease he'd created and trying to clarify his meaning. "You always look sad when you see her," he added almost as an after thought.

Clarke knew she was staring and she knew that it was rude, but she couldn't help herself. Nyko was fidgeting around in his seat, avoiding her eyes, and all of the polite manners that her mother had drummed into her head since she was old enough to speak, were screaming at her to say something, anything to end this conversation and put him at ease, but she couldn't make her mouth form the words.

Clarke sat there, with her mouth slightly open, staring across the table in horror as her brain tried to deny that any such thing had ever occurred.

Of course she didn't look sad when she visited the stables. That was ridiculous! And she didn't avoid Brownie because she was sad, she just didn't have time to ride all of them as little as she was there!

Part of her brain started throwing out angry retorts, words that would have cut through his careful observations and well meant sentiment. Statements that would transfer her embarrassment to him and put him right back in his place, swirled around in her head. He was an employee and a new one at that! He had no right to reveal personal details about her life to anyone, but especially not to everyone assembled at her table now after she'd been so gracious as to invite him to a private dinner.

But she didn't do that. She couldn't. None of this was his fault. She was being a total asshole about it and she knew it. Clarke tried desperately to shove the bitchy, nagging voices that sounded suspiciously like her mother, back inside her head and think of something intelligent to say, but nothing was coming to her.

Just when she thought she might actually vomit from nervous energy, Lincoln's voice sounded from the other end of the table, breaking the tension and allowing her to release a deep breath that she hadn't even been aware she was holding.

"Brownie was Jake's horse," he said firmly, and then he turned to Jasper and started asking questions about how he'd started DJing.

Between Jaspers overly eager statements about how rad his house parties used to be and Octavia's affirmations that they were indeed very rad, Lincoln caught her eye and nodded once, very subtly, but she knew that he understood what her mouth couldn't say. He'd willingly sacrificed himself to a conversation about something he wasn't really interested in, with the one person at the table that was never affected by awkwardness or tension, and would jabber his ear off for an hour, all for her. He did it so that she wouldn't have to embarrass herself trying to explain to Nyko why Brownie was special, or worse, try to deny what was apparently so very clear and she was more grateful than she could ever properly express.

A small smile played around his lips as he leaned closer to Jasper, every line of his body conveying studied interest, but Clarke knew that Lincoln was only half listening. His eyes were flitting around the table, assessing everyone and making sure that things were okay, before finally settling on Octavia who covered a grin by taking a huge bite of her pumpkin pie and chewing it through exaggerated exclamations about how delicious it was. Apparently Clarke wasn't the only one that knew about Lincoln's sacrifice.

Once Clarke recovered from the shock of being so exposed, she picked up her fork and started pushing food around on her plate. She wasn't really hungry, even though Indra's pies _were_ delicious. In fact, her stomach felt like a giant knot inside her belly and the thought of choking down any more food had her breaking out in a cold sweat.

While she was stewing in her own thoughts, lost to the conversations happening around the table, fingers brushed her back and she jumped, glancing over at Bellamy who was casually slouched in his seat, his arm, the one touching her, carefully hidden by the table cloth while his fingers trailed comfortingly up and down her lower back. Even with the knowledge the no one else could see what he was doing, Clarke still flushed and looked down, trying to inch away from him across the bench without falling off.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his smile widen and she thought seriously about stomping on his foot under the table to get him to stop, but then she noticed that Lincoln's eyes were on the pair of them. For a moment he studied Bellamy's profile with careful calculation and then he turned his piercing stare on her and raised an eyebrow.

Clarke wasn't sure if that one raised brow was asking her if she was enjoying what Bellamy was doing or if it was simply there to acknowledge that it was happening and question why she hadn't put a stop to it. Lincoln didn't look angry necessarily, which was a surprise to her considering the bad blood between them, he just looked curious, as if they were a puzzle to be figured out.

She shook her head once, letting him know that she was fine, that she could handle it and she'd explain later, even though she had no intention of actually doing that. If she was being honest, she wasn't really sure if she _could_ explain anything that was happening tonight because it was hard for her to believe too, but damned if she'd make another spectacle by flipping her shit and letting everyone at the table know that Bellamy was touching her.

It's not like it was a big touch anyway, just a few soft digits resting near the base of her spine, rubbing small circles that tortured her frazzled nerves and plummeted her back into sensory memories of his hands holding her in other places.

Damn him! The smirk on his face let her know that he knew what he was doing to her. That he knew _exactly_ what she was thinking about and that she couldn't do anything to stop him without embarrassing herself.

She threw a discreet elbow into his ribs and he grunted softly, but only leaned closer to her, invading the hell out of her personal space under the pretense of reaching for the bowl of whipped cream sitting in front of her.

The entire length of his right side was suddenly flush against her and she could smell the sharp bite of his cologne, feel the warmth of his skin through the thin layer of his t-shirt, and her heart started to pound an unsteady rhythm inside her chest. He was close, too close. All she could see was him, he blocked out her entire view of the rest of the table except for Nyko who wasn't paying them any attention, probably afraid to say anything else to her, lest she bring on another excruciatingly awkward stall in the conversation.

Just when she thought that she was going to have to stand up and flee the table, Bellamy's fingers circled the bowl and pulled it to his side as he sat back away from her. Using his left hand, the one not touching her, he scooped a fat dollop of cream onto his pie and smiled at something that Monty said, but somewhere in the process, he'd managed to get his right arm more securely around her waist.

They were closer to each other now, not enough to draw notice, but enough that he could reach his entire arm around her and rest a hand low on her right hip. His fingers gave the sensitive skin of her side a gentle squeeze.

A strangled breath escaped her throat, which she tried desperately to pass off as a cough, but she could tell by the smile on his face, that he knew she hadn't just choked on her wine.

His fingers started their slow circuits again, rubbing fire everywhere they touched, and Clarke could feel heat spreading up her chest. If anyone bothered to look her way, she was sure she'd be as red as a cherry tomato, while Bellamy sat right next to her like nothing was going on. Jerk!

"I'm going to go get another bottle of wine. Does anyone else need anything?" she asked, abruptly standing from the table and moving far enough away that Bellamy's hand dropped. Several startled pairs of eyes looked back at her and she became aware that she'd probably totally interrupted a few conversations, but she'd take the weird looks over Bellamy's sly touch any day of the week.

"Yeah could you grab me another beer?" Lincoln said, holding it up for her to see the label like she didn't already know that he was drinking Fat Tire, like he hadn't been drinking the same gross amber ale since college, and like she hadn't stocked it in her fridge this weekend specifically for him.

"Could you get me one too?" Monty asked politely, and returned her smile when she nodded.

"Anyone else?" she asked, scooting away from the table and Bellamy's focused stare. He didn't look as pleased with himself as he had two minutes ago, a fact for which she felt immensely proud. "Nyko, you look like you could use another rum and coke," she added, studying his glass and trying to pass an olive branch without being obvious about it. She really did like him, and things would be so much easier if they could get past the awkwardness she'd created tonight.

"I should probably go and check on the horses," he said, looking towards the stables and fidgeting with the woven bracelet circling his wrist. She wondered if he wore it just so that he could fiddle with it as needed, or if he was unaware that he spun it in circles when he was worried.

"Don't be silly. You just checked on them an hour ago. They are fine," she said placing a gentle hand on his shoulder and trying to look reassuring as his eyes snapped to hers. He smiled tentatively up at her, apparently just as anxious as she was to get over their social hurdle.

"I'll have one more and then I'll go and check on them." He nodded, for her or for himself she wasn't sure, and then he swung his leg over the bench to stand.

"No it's okay. I'll get it." Clarke pressed him back down firmly and gave his shoulder a pat.

"You won't be able to carry all of that," he said questioningly as he looked around the table and calculated how many hands she had compared to what she needed to bring out.

"I'll figure it out." Clarke rolled her eyes at him and gave him a broad grin.

"I'll help." Bellamy's abrupt statement drew curious stares, but they didn't seem to bother him the same way they did her.

She watched in ill disguised horror as he untangled his lanky body from the picnic table and stood to assist her. The look on his face wasn't smug anymore. In fact he looked sort of angry although Clarke couldn't for the life of her figure out why he would be, but then she noticed that his steely gaze was focused on the one hand she still had resting on Nyko's shoulder.

"It's okay," she said quickly withdrawing her hand and stepping away from the table. "I'll manage," she added and spun on her heel to head for the house. Like she wanted him to come help her! She didn't even need more wine, she'd just been desperate to get away and that was the first thing that had popped into her head!

Clarke grumbled to herself about the perverse tendencies of men and her daily brush with Murphy's law as she stubbed her toe on the door sill and nearly careened into a potted plant in the foyer.

"How much have you had to drink?"

Clarke froze, one hand messaging her injured toe while the other clutched the plant stand for balance. She didn't dare look back, convincing herself that she was hearing things as she lowered her foot to the ground and stood up straight with her back to the door. Surely Bellamy had not followed her into the house after she'd made it very clear that she wanted to be left alone.

"Clarke?" he asked and she felt him step closer to her.

"I told you I had it," she bit out between clenched teeth before stomping off in the direction of the kitchen.

She thought she heard him chuckle as she left him in the foyer, but her blood was already almost at a boil and she was afraid that if she turned around and saw him smiling she'd do something drastic, like pick up that ugly vase her mother had insisted she put in the foyer, and smash it into his thick skull. That would certainly liven up the party, she thought sardonically.

The wine rack in the kitchen was nearly empty because she hadn't bothered to restock it recently, so she headed for the steps that led down to the wine cellar.

The familiar scent of oak barrels and dust greeted her as she flicked on the soft overhead light that cast more shadows than actual illumination, and started running her fingers along the neatly organized shelves looking for a red wine that Octavia would enjoy.

"Someone have a drinking problem?" Bellamy asked as he clomped down the stairs and whistled through his teeth.

"No," she said shortly, and then walked away, putting a rack of bottles between them.

"Clarke are we ever going to actually talk about this?" His voice drifted to her quietly among the shelves and she glanced up to see him peering at her through the empty space between bottles.

"No," she said again, although with far less certainty than she had before. Maybe it _would_ be a good idea to talk about it. Maybe they could both be adults and have a reasonable conversation about it and then she'd be able to put all of this behind her and start getting her life back on track, but then she realized who she was talking to and snorted. Of course Bellamy wasn't going to be an adult about this. Not hot headed Captain Bellamy Blake, resident hard ass and crusher of dreams.

He was probably the least likely person on the planet to have a reasonable, intelligent conversation about the dangers of drinking too much and accidentally making out with someone. He'd probably just try to play it off like she was a slut if she didn't offer to immediately jump back into bed with him and then she'd have to deal with even more work gossip while he walked around like the injured party, she thought bitterly as she shoved bottles around and tried to think of a way to escape. It wasn't just the wine cellar and Bellamy anymore, she wanted away from the entire party.

It was nice having Octavia and Lincoln around and she was even enjoying Jasper's antics and Monty's quiet attempts to subdue him, not to mention Indra's quiet pleasure over having a house full of people again, but after everything that had happened over the last few weeks and the emotional roller coaster that this weekend had already been, she just didn't feel like socializing.

It made her feel bad that she was trying to think of an excuse to stop hanging out with everyone, but at the same time, she felt like she would be better off just going to bed and trying to sort things out tomorrow.

"Clarke," he said, slipping up behind her unnoticed and causing her to jump. "We need to talk about what happened last weekend."

"No Bellamy we don't," she said trying to slip around him, but his shoulders were so broad that he was nearly taking up the whole aisle and she couldn't think of a way around him that wouldn't involve touching him because he clearly had no intention of moving out of her way.

"Look I'm sorry if I… If I hurt your feelings or something." Bellamy ran a nervous hand through his tousled hair.

"Hurt my feelings?" Clarke asked incredulously.

"Yeah. I mean… I didn't stop because I didn't want to. I stopped because you were piss drunk and it didn't feel right," he added, with a smile that sent her blood pressure straight through the roof.

It took every once of self control she possessed to keep her hands at her sides and not wrap them around his stupid, perfectly tanned neck. Was it possible that he didn't realize that calling a girl piss drunk after basically saying that you would totally have fucked her, was a bad idea? Really, she couldn't think of any situation where describing someone you might potentially want to have a relationship with as 'piss drunk' would be a good idea.

"Bellamy…" She stopped to take a deep calming breath before letting out a tired sigh as she paused and searched for words that wouldn't lead them into a fight or make her sound like the vulnerable pile of trash she felt like. "I'm sorry that I… that I ignored you this week and made things more awkward than they needed to be."

There, that was sufficient. She'd acknowledged what the problem was and apologized all at the same time. Good job brain, she thought as she shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, waiting for him to say something or get the hell out of the way so she could leave. Never in all the years she'd spent in this house, had she felt so out of place as she did standing in front of him in her father's dimly lit wine cellar.

"Now we can go back to the way things were and forget that any of this ever happened right?" she asked as she looked up at his serious face and hoped with all of her being that he'd just say yes and let it drop. There couldn't be any better outcome than that. If he would just say okay and turn around, they could go back to being Dr. Griffin and Captain Blake and the universe would have been set right again.

Praying that he would take the easy road with her, and swearing to her god and anyone else that was listening that she'd never, ever do something like this again, she stared into his dark brown eyes and waited.

"No, Clarke. We can't," he said and her patience shattered.

"Why not Bellamy? Why do you have to be so god damned difficult? Is it really too much to ask that just this one time you let something go so that we can both be better off? It would make everything so much easier if we could just go back to being strangers that work together. I won't even bitch about how annoying you are if you just let this go! Please," she pleaded, reaching out a hand to him and then freezing mid motion when she realized that she was about to touch him.

"Because," he said stepping closer to her so that she had to crane her neck back to see his face, "I don't want to."

She gasped as his mouth descended on hers and he swallowed her breath into their kiss. For a moment she was too stunned to do anything, but when she felt his tongue sweep gently along her lower lip, she let go of all the feelings she had tried so hard to hold back, and then she was lost.

As soon as he sensed her surrender, Bellamy pulled her into his arms, and carded a hand through her hair, carefully pulling out the pins holding up her bun as his mouth worked frantically over hers. Everything she saw, or felt, or heard was him. The darkness of his hair as it brushed against her forehead, the gentle pressure of his hand pressing into her lower back, the quiet growl in the back of his throat as he tilted his head and deepened their kiss, it was all Bellamy and it overwhelmed her senses with an almost unpleasant intensity.

Her hands, which had been resting loosely at her sides, wound around his neck without conscious thought and he crushed her body to his. There was no space between them, not even enough to draw a proper breath and Clarke heard herself gasping for air as their noses brushed. He pulled away only far enough to kiss a line down her jaw, heading for the sensitive skin of her throat while she drug in a ragged breath.

The soft whimpering that filled the air was coming from her, and she should have been embarrassed by it, but the only thing she could process was Bellamy. Bellamy's lips on her clavicle, Bellamy's hair tickling her chin, Bellamy's fingers pulling her head back so that he could have better access to her neck.

"Please," she said desperately as she clutched at his shoulders and tried to stay upright.

Clarke wasn't even really sure what she was asking for until Bellamy's hand left her hair to join the other at the small of her back. Without a moments hesitation, he slid his palms over the seat of her jeans and under her thighs to lift her.

It didn't matter that she'd wrapped her legs around his waist, like instantly, or that she had wine bottles digging into her back, the only thing that mattered was Bellamy's touch. His lips were everywhere as his hands gripped her tightly, holding her steady against him and she moaned as he rocked his hips into the cradle of her thighs.

"Jesus, Clarke," he said, tearing his lips away from hers and lowering his head to her shoulder while she kissed along his neck, only stopping to suck his earlobe into her mouth. She was rewarded with an extra squeeze of his hands and a nip on her shoulder that made her smile.

His breathing was labored and she didn't think she was imagining that he was shaking as he held her, but now that they'd started, she wasn't as inclined to stop as he seemed to be. Using her hands to guide his face back to hers, she took his lower lip between her teeth and bit gently before sucking it into her mouth to sooth the bite with the soft caress of her tongue.

When she broke away from him to glance at his expression, Clarke noticed that his pupils were blown wide and his mouth was slightly ajar. For some reason it made her giggle and she watched as his eyes snapped to hers and a look of determination crossed his face.

She never had time to register how much trouble she might be in for laughing at him before his mouth was attacking hers. His scent assaulted her nostrils, a mixture of sweet spice from his cologne and the pungent smell of hops and barely, as he ground into her.

His hands were everywhere, her face, her breasts, all the way down to where her feet hooked around him. She realized through the haze of passion, that he was holding her up with only his waist, the wine rack behind her, and her clinging hands, as he explored her body unrestrained, but didn't have time to be properly impressed.

Part of her brain was sending out warning bells that she needed to stop this before things got out of hand, but it was quickly being smothered by the rapid pounding of her heart in her ears and the sexy sucking sound of Bellamy's lips on her skin.

It wasn't until the wine rack behind her started to sway and groan that she had enough presence of mind to call a halt to their steamy make out session by grabbing his face and physically pulling it away from her.

"We are going to break something," she said, her labored breath competing with his as she smiled into the soft skin of his neck. Bellamy's hands were tensing and untense against her sides in a rhythm that he seemed completely unaware of, and Clarke definitely wasn't in a state to point it out, but she appreciated it all the same.

"So?" He was fighting the pull of her hands to bring his mouth back to her neck, and she laughed.

"So, I think we might not want to bring the whole wine cellar crashing down around our heads if we want to keep the entire household from knowing what we are doing right now," she said with a smirk.

"I don't care what they think," he grunted, but his mouth had slowed it's progress down her neck.

"I do," she cried indignantly. "That's your sister and my family out there," she added as if that made all the difference.

"They probably already know." He pulled away enough to look down at her face. "We've been gone for twenty minutes."

"So? We could just be searching for the perfect bottle of wine," she argued, clearly uncomfortable with the idea that twenty minutes had passed without her knowing.

"You couldn't keep your eyes off me at dinner," he said and the corners of his lips turned up when she gasped. "They probably knew you were touching me under the table."

"I wasn't touching you! That's ridiculous! You were the one that…" she started, but he cut her off with a kiss.

"You kept touching my thigh with yours, bumping your foot against mine under the table. You weren't being very subtle Clarke," he added and she could feel him smiling against her lips as an angry flush filled her cheeks. She started pushing away in earnest.

He let her legs drop to the ground, but didn't step back as his torso pushed hers flush with the rack behind her, his arms boxing her in and preventing any escape.

"I most certainly was not doing that! You were the one that put your hand on my back. And if I was touching your feet it was probably just to kick you for being such a jerk all the time!"

"I touched you because you needed me to," he said and she stopped the rush of words ready to spill off her lips at the serious tone of his voice.

Glancing up into his eyes, she searched their depths for meaning as her forehead creased into a frown. "What?"

"You do this thing when you're upset," he started, bringing one hand up to brush the apple of her cheek. "You hunch over. Draw yourself in like you're trying to make yourself as small as possible," he said, his eyes switching quickly between hers. "I don't like it," he finished with something strong and steely behind his words.

"I don't do that." Clarke's voice was firm and she tilted her chin up in challenge. "I have perfect posture," she added although less certainly.

"You do," he agreed, placing a feather light kiss on the center of her forehead before lifting her chin to capture her lips in a soft, sweet kiss.

"Then what you said doesn't make any logical sense." She was frowning now, no longer caught up in the passion that had so encompassed them only moments ago.

"Maybe not, but it's still true," he said into her mouth as he stole another kiss. "You ball yourself up like you're trying to hide from the world. Like if you make yourself small enough you'll just disappear and no one will ever notice that you're gone."

Clarke stopped for a moment to think about what he was saying and wondered how true his statement was. If she was being honest with herself, sometimes she did wish that she could just curl into a ball and disappear, but she hadn't realized that she actually made any kind of physical move to indicate that's what she was thinking. No one had ever mentioned it to her before, and she was sure that if she _was_ doing that, Wells would have commented on it by now. He didn't like for her to try to hide her feelings, or anything else for that matter.

She didn't enjoy knowing that someone saw any signs of weakness in her, but she especially didn't like that, that person had to be Bellamy Blake. Those deep brown eyes, soft full lips, and strong fingers had all the power in the world to ruin her and she was afraid that he knew it now too. If she let this thing, whatever it was, happen, he could destroy her and that possibility was terrifying to Clarke on so many levels.

Her head was telling her to back off, to get as far away as fast as possible before he hurt her, but her heart was still drumming along in her chest, urging her to stretch up the few inches to his mouth, and stop worrying about what might come tomorrow when she could have all of him right now.

Torn between the waring factions in her body, Clarke started to panic. Indecision was the worst sort of fuel for her anxiety and before she was even aware of what was happening, she was pushing him away with two small hands on his chest and struggling to get away from him as he held her.

"Clarke stop," he said firmly, but gently as he caught her hands in his and pressed them against his chest.

She could feel the heavy thumping of his heart beneath her fingers and for some reason it soothed her frazzled nerves. It was strong and solid and real, everything that she wasn't sure she was and nothing could have calmed her down more in that moment, than it's steady beat. She might still be breathing too hard and too fast, and her eyes felt wider than they should be, but at least she wasn't sitting on the ground hyperventilating and for that if nothing else, she was grateful to him.

Pulling her hands away, she flung herself at him, not caring a bit what he might read into it. She tangled her fingers in the hair above his nape and buried her face in his neck, taking several deep soothing breaths and willing the tension away from her chest. His hands held her too him, but not too tightly. His touch was just firm enough to be reassuring without making her feel trapped and she took a moment to wonder how he knew so precisely how to handle this situation.

The man standing before her now was so at odds with the image she'd had of him in her mind all the years they'd worked together, that it was hard to reconcile the two with the rational part of her brain. Bellamy Blake wasn't kind or compassionate. Was he? Maybe she'd just never given him the chance to be.

While her pulse slowed and her chest loosened, Clarke thought back on the interactions they'd shared over the course of their work relationship and tried to pick apart every look, every conversation, searching for something that she'd missed. Surely if this person, the kind, gentle, perceptive man that was standing with her now had been hiding inside Bellamy all this time, she'd have noticed. At least that's what she kept telling herself even as her brain told her she had never bothered to look.

"Don't over think it Clarke," Bellamy said quietly, and she realized that she'd been standing there, absorbing his strength and relishing his calm, steady demeanor while her own was so chaotic, for much longer than she'd intended.

"I'm not," she muttered, the knee jerk reaction to disagree with anything he said still firmly in place. It was good to know that at least some things hadn't changed, she thought as she stepped back and looked up at him.

"Sure," he agreed with a smirk, and just like that, she was reminded of all the times he'd used that same condescending smile to make her feel stupid. It was like being doused in a bucket of ice water.

"Let's just get what we came down here for and go back to the party." Clarke was trying not to be angry about his flippant nature, but failing miserably. It wasn't like she hadn't thrown herself at him just as much as he'd come on to her.

"I did get what I came down here for," he stated simply and laughed when she took a swipe at him.

"You're a pig," she told him acidly, but there wasn't a lot of heat behind her words.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He was still smiling as he pulled a bottle out from behind his back and presented it to her with an almost boyish grin.

"Wait, where did you get that?" Clarke was trying desperately not to return his smile. It was oddly infectious and she wondered briefly if she was actually a lot more tipsy than she'd originally thought. Surely _that_ was the reason she was fawning over him like an idiot. It definitely wasn't because she as infatuated. That would be ridiculous!

He looked from her to the shelves around them and then raised his eyebrow in a question, clearly trying to express how stupid she was for even having to ask, but then he laughed and any anger she might have felt over the slight, evaporated.

"Shut up," she said, snatching the bottle out of his hands and reading the label. By coincidence, or perhaps not, it was the perfect bottle of sweet, red wine she'd been searching for when she came down. Octavia would love it, a fact that she told him as she started ascending the stairs, not bothering to see if he was following. Half of her wanted to lock him down here just to avoid anymore scandalous behavior in front of the group, but of course she didn't.

Octavia would surely be upset if Clarke jailed her brother in her wine cellar, especially if she knew exactly _why_ she wanted him sequestered.

Just as she reached the last step and was about to push open the door, she felt Bellamy's hands on her waist. It froze her solid, every muscle gone rigid in an instant.

"I changed my mind," he said in a husky voice, his front pressed against her back in a way that would have made her blush if her face wasn't already so red. "I haven't gotten all of what I came down here for," he added, his lips brushing her ear and stealing her breath.

A shiver raced down her spine as he buried his face in her hair and his arms snaked around her, but before she could form a reply, the door swung open and the stark light from the kitchen spilled over them.

Lincoln was standing there, staring down at her in shock and maybe a little disapproval, and for the life of her she couldn't think of a thing to say. They were caught. The cat was out of the bag. The fat lady had sung and she was totally screwed.

There was no reason to even bother pushing Bellamy away at that point, Lincoln already knew exactly what they were doing, but Clarke really, really wished that she'd had the presence of mind to try doing it just a few moments sooner. She'd gotten herself into this mess the second she'd allowed him to kiss her.

Bellamy was outwardly calm and quiet, just as he always was, but she could feel the tension in his body as he too stared up at Lincoln, waiting for something to happen.

"Well shit," she muttered into the awkward silence and behind her, she heard Bellamy start laughing.

 **A/N: I think we all know by now that I have some formatting issues with this website which we shall not name (because it apparently just erases it if I try - see last chapter for examples), so I tried something new with the large breaks. I put in a line of symbols where multiple spaces (indicating a changing "scene") should be and I guess we will find out together if it deletes those too! As for italics... I write in scrivener and then copy and paste from there to here. I have no idea why italicized words don't transfer when I do this, but they don't and going back through 18k words to add them here would be tedious beyond what I am capable of enduring so... just emphasize whatever part of the sentence feels right in your head? I'm sorry! LOL!**

 **As far as story notes go, this chapter is mostly fluff with some angst and character development thrown in. I experimented with flashback segues a little, so it may feel different than what I've written in the past. You'll have to let me know what you think about it.**

 **Comments, follows, etc., are really the only way I have to gauge how this story is being received and I use them to evaluate how to proceed in future chapters. If you like the story and would like to see more of it, please consider leaving a comment. I may not always respond to them, but I absolutely do read every single one!**

 **Happy early Valentines day guys! 3**


	10. Turning Page

The heat was sweltering as Clarke marched into TonDC. Every day here seemed to be grimmer than the last and after weeks of getting nowhere on Charlotte's investigation, she was losing hope that they'd be able to uncover enough evidence to get a conviction.

Clarke knew that Bellamy had been working nonstop to try to piece together a case, but he was getting nowhere fast and they both knew it. The defeat in his eyes every time he spied Charlotte nearly broke her heart.

Thinking of Bellamy was apparently enough to conjure the man himself, because as soon as Clarke stepped through the metal detector, she spotted him speaking casually with an inmate a few meters away. The sight of him in his uniform, shirt stretched nearly taut over his pectoral muscles, brought on an entirely different kind of uncomfortable heat from the muggy air outside and Clarke flushed.

Ever since their stolen kiss in the cellar, followed by Lincoln's stern lecture on propriety, the risks of getting involved with a coworker, and finally what it could do to Octavia if things went south, they hadn't really had a chance to talk. With Octavia's wedding plans and their work schedule, it seemed like she and Bellamy only passed each other in the hallways and their lengthy silence was becoming more and more awkward.

Not that Clarke had any idea what to do about it. So far all she'd managed were a few short outbursts that hadn't made much sense even to her, and one nightmarish moment where she'd thought they were going to be left alone in a room together and had bolted, rather dramatically, before that could happen.

Clearly, she was handling it like the adult she was.

That is to say, that rather than face her real life problems, she was focusing all of her energy on throwing the best damn engagement dinner anyone had ever seen! She'd been thrilled to learn, after one extremely weird night and a wine cellar she'd never be able to enter again, that Octavia loved the venue and thought that they could really "do something with it."

Clarke had tried her best not to be offended by the implication that something was wrong with her family home, because she knew that Octavia was just excited about doing what she loved and making things as beautiful as they could possibly be, her home included. The fact that this time Octavia would be shopping and designing for her own big day only made her more determined that everything, including Clarke's engagement dinner, be perfect and that was how Clarke had been talked into spending five hours after work researching the most elegant way to phrase 'save the date' cards.

Octavia's endless enthusiasm was almost as cute as it was exhausting and every time Clarke thought she wasn't going to be able to stand hearing one more word about the wedding, she'd picture the hell that Lincoln must by going through being stuck listening to Octavia gush about flowers and place cards 24/7. It brought an unintentional smile to her lips and it was like that, stupid smile plastered on her face, that she passed Bellamy.

Their eyes met as she walked by and he smirked, but not in the cocky, irritating way that she remembered. No, this smirk was warm and full of shared secrets. As she walked away, she could feel his eyes on her back and it heated her all the way to the roots of her hair.

Her office door was in front of her before she realized she'd stopped and she unlocked it by muscle memory alone. Good thing her reflexes had her back when her brain started short circuiting, because it seemed to be happening an awful lot lately!

Clarke sighed, shoving her keys into her pocket before closing the door behind her with a mental promise to get her shit together. However, no more had she sat down at her desk than her door was opening again, jarring her out of her normal morning routine.

Wells stuck his head in and asked if she had time to talk. The worried look on his face sobered her instantly, thoughts of Bellamy replaced by the anxiety written plainly on Wells' face.

"Hey, I didn't mean to wreck your morning, but I just can't crack this thing with Charlotte and I'd like to talk it out with someone. Maybe a fresh pair of eyes, or in this case ears," he added with a tiny smile, "will give me the perspective I need to help her."

"Of course. And you're not wrecking my morning," she added settling in behind her desk and giving him her full attention. It wasn't often that a patient stumped Wells, so whatever was going on must be serious.

"Well you looked awfully happy before I walked in," he said with just a hint of his usual playful smile.

"Not any more or less happy than usual." Clarke shuffled some things around on her desk to avoid meeting his eyes.

"You were smiling like a lunatic and walked right passed me when I said hello." He eyed her speculatively while she tried not to look as shocked as she felt about having actually walked by without noticing him. "You know, it's been awhile since we've really had a chance to catch up," he added, triggering instant guilt that brought her eyes to his.

That brief moment of contact, it was a mistake. As soon as her blue eyes met his brown ones, she felt exposed like he'd peeled back all of the protective layers she'd built around her secret. She wondered sometimes if Wells was an alien that could read minds, because he had an uncanny way of uncovering her most deeply held secrets and forcing her to look at them. As annoying as it was, she accepted that it was just a part of being his friend.

Sometimes, you just had to accept people as they were. Nothing was going to change a person except the person themselves and you either had to make a choice to accept that or stay away from them. She'd made her choice about Wells a long time ago, so long ago in fact that it felt like a lifetime looking back, and she never regretted it. Not once, not even now when he was poking around something that she _really_ didn't want to get into.

Thinking about acceptance brought Bellamy back to the forefront of her mind and she frowned. Perhaps if she was ever going to get past all of his faults and try to work things out, whatever those _things_ might be, she would have to accept him too.

Once again, Wells had forced her to confront something that she'd been hiding from all week and he hadn't even tried. He was an alien for sure, she thought wryly.

"I wasn't smiling like a lunatic," she stated petulantly. "I just didn't see you."

"Is that maybe because you were daydreaming about-" he started to say, but Clarke cut him off.

"No," she said firmly. "Didn't you come in here to talk to me about Charlotte?" Shoehorning Charlotte into the conversation to take the heat off of her didn't feel good, but she'd panicked.

Wells' face instantly fell and Clarke felt like a terrible person.

If she kept it up, she'd give herself a headache, cycling through all the emotional ups and downs she'd experienced already this morning. Her life was like a damn roller coaster.

"Yeah," he said, his face pensive. "I just can't figure out how to get her to talk to me. I've tried every technique I know and nothing is getting through."

"She's been through a lot Wells." Clarke's voice as soft with understanding, images of Charlotte's exam flashing through her mind and twisting her stomach into knots.

"I know. Most of the people in here have been through a lot." This simple truth was delivered while he stared at the floor, clearly deep in thought.

Clarke knew how empathetic Wells could be. It was what made him a brilliant doctor, but she also knew that she would never understand his unending compassion. Some of the people in this place, people like Cage Wallace, didn't deserve his understanding. That man didn't deserve anything.

She and Wells had always been of the same mind when it came to almost everything, be it favorite foods or politics, but coming here had opened Clarke's idealistic eyes in a way that it hadn't for Wells and now they were in this weird place where each knew the other couldn't see their perspective and neither knew how to fix it.

It was an agree to disagree moment and Clarke let it slide by without comment. No point in arguing over something that didn't matter and would get them nowhere. Just one more policy she should probably apply to her problems with Bellamy.

"Maybe you _should_ try hypnosis," Clarke offered, dredging up their last conversation about Charlotte. "If nothing else is working maybe that is your only option."

"It isn't something I want to do," he said rubbing a hand over his face. "I don't know if it would even be helpful. She may just see it as one more invasion in a place that's done nothing but deny her privacy and closure. Being raped isn't an easy thing to deal with in any environment, but in here there's no system for healing. You are forced to deal with it along side people who may or may not be sympathetic towards your struggle and there is absolutely no way to get away from them. I understand why she's struggling and I need to find a way to help her before it's too late." Neither of them spoke it out loud, but both knew which words he'd left unspoken. He didn't want Charlotte to end up like the patient he'd lost and Clarke knew he'd move Heaven and Earth to make sure that didn't happen.

Clarke watched his eyes cloud over and wished for the millionth time that perhaps Wells was just a little less in tune with people's emotions. Looking more closely at him, she noticed that his hair was starting to gray around the temples and his eyes looked more sunken than she remembered. Clearly he was losing sleep over the situation, but she wondered if there wasn't something more going on.

She'd been so tied up in her own drama, that she hadn't even bothered to notice her best friend's struggles and it made her feel terrible. What kind of person didn't realize when their best friend was hurting? Was she really that self centered?

"Wells are you feeling okay?" she asked in a belated attempt to rectify the situation.

"What?" he asked, clearly confused by the change of topic.

"Are you okay? Is everything going well with Callie? I haven't heard you talk about her in awhile."

"Yes, I'm fine and we are fine. Don't worry about me Clarke," he added with a small smile.

"Don't tell me how to live my life Wells," she quipped, glad to see him smiling even if it was only a little smile, the barest hint to the curve of his lips.

"Don't make me mother you and I won't!" he retorted.

"Fine, but we really do need to take some time just to catch up." Her grin softened as she stared at him and thought about the last time they'd seen each other outside of TonDC.

"We do," he agreed, sitting forward and pushing up out of the chair. "Maybe we can do something this weekend?"

"Sounds good. Maybe you can help me figure out what the hell the difference is between antique white and dutch white. I don't know if you know this, but apparently it's a pretty big deal." Clarke rolled her eyes dramatically, but she was still smiling.

"Still planning a wedding then are we?" Wells laughed.

"Yes," she groaned, "just kill me now."

"You'll survive," he said confidently as he strode toward the door. "And Clarke," he added, pausing to turn back to her, "thanks for the help."

"I didn't do anything," she said honestly.

"You do more than you know." His gaze was steady on hers, his tone absolutely serious and she felt warmth flood her chest.

Wells would always appreciate her even when she was at her worst. It didn't matter that they hadn't talked, really talked, in forever. It didn't matter that they both had things going on in their personal lives and had somehow drifted apart. At the end of the day he would always be there for her just as she was for him and that knowledge was a steady comfort in the back of her mind that she hadn't realized she relied so heavily on until just that moment.

"You know I love you right?" she asked suddenly, struck by the need to assure him of her affection, just in case he'd forgotten.

"And I you," he said, clutching his chest in a pour imitation of some Shakespearian love scene.

"Get out of here and do some work would you?" she laughed, lobbing a pen at him for good measure.

"You got it boss lady!" He slipped out before she could find something else to throw.

Shaking her head at his silliness, Clarke reached for the nearest file, prepared to lose herself in catching up on the latest patients, but before she could really begin, another head popped in her unlocked door. Apparently knocking was no longer a priority in her office.

"Clarke," Bellamy said in way of greeting as he crossed the space and took a seat in front of her desk.

Sighing, she closed the file in front of her and prepared for 'the talk' which she'd known had to be coming, but had been dreading for days. Strangely, he seemed fidgety, like he was just as uncomfortable as she was. A fidgety Bellamy Blake was new and she studied him curiously.

"What are you doing this morning?" he asked, surprising her.

"Not much so far," she said confused. "I just got here and I was talking to Wells about Charlotte before you came in."

"What does Jaha want with Charlotte?" His gaze sharpened as he waited for her to respond.

Clarke knew that Bellamy had made catching Charlotte's attacker his own personal crusade, but she hadn't realized that he may not trust Wells around her any more than he trusted anyone else. It was odd that he would be suspicious of Wells when they were both pretty certain that Cage was the culprit, but people did odd things when they were passionate about something.

"He was just worried that he's not getting through to her. She won't talk about what happened." Clarke's voice was calm, pitched low to try to sooth his nerves.

"Of course she doesn't want to talk about it! Who the hell would want to talk about something like that?" he exclaimed, nearly leaving the chair as he sat forward to glare at her.

"Lots of people want to talk about it when they are attacked Bellamy. It's what counseling is for," she replied patiently. It wasn't unusual for men, especially men like Bellamy with all of their repressed feelings and macho man attitudes, to think that no one wanted to talk about anything even if talking about it could help.

"Well maybe she doesn't," he said testily.

"Or maybe she does," Clarke responded gently. "Not everyone wants to repress their emotions," she added before he could say anything else. Clearly Bellamy was not comfortable talking about the big E's, but that was no reason to assume that Charlotte would be the same way. Emotions weren't scary for everyone.

"Instead of forcing her to talk about her feelings, maybe Jaha could look into why she isn't sleeping. She'd probably feel a lot better if she got a decent nights sleep!"

Clarke stared at Bellamy curiously as she tried to puzzle out what was really upsetting him. Whatever it was, it must be pretty major to have ruffled his feathers this badly and she doubted that it was all about what was going on with Charlotte. Sure, they were both frustrated with the dead end case that the investigation was turning out to be, but even that didn't warrant this show of emotion. Not from him.

"You talk to Charlotte?" she asked, picking out one of the many odd things about their conversation and focusing on it.

"Of course," he said, offended. "Do you think I don't know how to do my job?"

"That's not what I meant." Clarke realized too late that the way she'd phrased it was perhaps not the best. "I just didn't think you two had… you know, conversations."

"We don't braid each other's hair and talk about chick flicks, but she tells me things." His eyebrows were pulled low over his eyes and he frowned at her across the desk.

"Of course she does. She knows you want to help." Clarke was trying to steer them back on track and avoid an argument, but the look on his face told her she wasn't going to have a lot of success. "So she's having trouble sleeping huh? Nightmares?"

"Yeah." Bellamy deflated a little, letting out a deep sigh as he dropped his face into his palms. "She never says what they're about."

He looked more bothered by the fact that she wouldn't tell him about her personal demons than he did about her missing a few REM cycles, but Clarke wasn't going to point that out. She also wasn't going to point out how hypocritical it was for him to assume that she'd want to talk to him, but not Wells although it almost made her smile.

"Give her time Bellamy. She needs to process everything and decide for herself what she wants to do from here," Clarke said quietly, thinking about how well that statement applied to her own situation as well.

They hadn't talked about it, their kiss in the wine cellar. She wasn't sure if he was just avoiding it because he hadn't liked it as much as he seemed to, or if it was just that he was waiting for her to make the first move. Either way, she really needed to figure out what she was going to do about it because not knowing was slowly driving her crazy. Clarke wasn't the type to not have a plan.

"I'm sick of not being able to do anything. I want that asshole behind bars," Bellamy said darkly. There was no need to ask who he was talking about. They both knew who he meant.

"Technically he's behind bars right now." Clarke tried to lighten the mood, but it fell flat.

If you let it, this place would drown you in misery. Not that, that was universal to prisons. Any job could break you if you let it and Clarke knew from experience that if you got too invested with patients, it would inevitably lead to problems.

As a doctor, in order to do her job properly, she needed to remain objective and she supposed the same applied to the guards. It was easy to see passed what the individual had done and sympathize with them when you had to see first hand what places like TonDC could do to people.

Of course, none of that really applied to Charlotte. It was hard not to sympathize with her once you knew the whole story. She'd just been a dumb kid, trying to stay warm and make the best of a terrible situation. Desperate people do desperate things and Charlotte didn't deserve any of what had happened to her. The injustice of it all was impossible to ignore when you worked every day with the failure of the US judicial system staring at you in the face.

"You know what I mean," Bellamy said, pulling her out of her thoughts.

"Did she say anything else while you were talking?" Clarke asked, thinking maybe she might have something else to offer Wells, who was struggling just as hard as Bellamy and with basically the same problem. Ultimately they both wanted to help Charlotte and regardless of how stubborn they both were, if something one of them said could help the other, she felt obligated to pass it along.

"Not really. She doesn't say much. Sometimes I think she's as scared of me as she is of him." Bellamy's face fell and Clarke wanted to reassure him, but she knew that words alone would never be enough to erase that look from his eyes.

"I'm sure it's not anything personal. She's probably just uncomfortable being around men right now. Any man would remind her of things she doesn't want to think about. Give her time, Bellamy."

"We don't have time Clarke," he said with a defeated sigh. "I give her as much advice as I can. I try to help her stay safe in here, but I can't help her if she won't let me in."

"You've done everything you can." Clarke knew it was true, but it still felt inadequate as she stared at his down turned face. "You've done everything that anyone could."

It wasn't much, but the small reassurance seemed to lighten his load, because his shoulders straightened and he looked less defeated.

"Is that what you came to talk about?" she asked tentatively, afraid to break the fragile peace they'd found.

"No, but it will have to wait." He rose from the chair and headed for the door in a few quick strides.

Clarke was startled by the sudden change, but she didn't say anything as he strode out the door without a backward glance. God help anyone that got in his way today, she thought with a sigh.

Her phone buzzed in her desk and she opened her drawer to check her messages, pretty certain of who would be texting her at this time of day, but checking anyway.

Sure enough, the text, which included at least one paragraph about bridesmaid colors, was from Octavia. Shaking her head, Clarke read through the message quickly and smiled.

The wedding couldn't come soon enough for Clarke, but Octavia seemed to think that they had nowhere near enough time to plan everything that she wanted.

Half way through her response, Clarke's phone started ringing, Octavia's smiling face staring up from the contact bubble. Apparently she was tired of waiting for Clarke's to reply.

"What's up buttercup?" Clarke said with an almost inaudible sigh.

"What do you think about the color ideas for the bridesmaid gowns? I think the blue will match your eyes perfectly and the bust line is gonna make your boobs look great! I know I said lavender and taupe before but just hear me out," Octavia said before giving Clarke a lengthy run down of the different color schemes she thought might work followed by all of the necklines that they could choose from and what the virtues and drawbacks of each were.

"That sounds nice. I'm sure whatever you decide will be beautiful. You need to trust yourself, O." If she was lucky, Octavia would take her advice and stop asking her about every single design decision she came across because Clarke was hardly an authority on the subject. She considered it a good day when her clothes matched… Octavia's style was on a whole different level.

"You're right," Octavia said with a laugh. "I'm just so worried that it won't be perfect and I _really_ want it to be perfect for Lincoln and his family."

Clarke could hear the nervousness in Octavia's voice and knew that most of her anxiety stemmed from the fact that she felt like she wasn't good enough for Lincoln. Coming from a background where the two siblings had to fight for everything they got and had learned to settle for what they had, Clarke couldn't imagine what it would be like to suddenly be thrust into a completely different world. The way Lincoln's parents lived must have seemed like an entirely different universe to Octavia, but no one deserved to be happy as much as she did, and Clarke genuinely believed that she and Linc had something special. That wouldn't stop her from worrying if she was in Octavia's shoes though, so she tried to just listen and be understanding.

"It's going to be perfect. You are going to be perfect. Linc loves you O. I can see it every time he looks at you," Clarke said honestly. "He's stupid in love with you," she added with a laugh and for just a moment, she thought she'd said something wrong, but then Octavia's breath hitched, and she was laughing too.

"He's really got it bad doesn't he?" Octavia asked through watery laughter.

"You bet he does." Clarke was relieved that she could offer at least that little reassurance. "I've got to get to work." Clarke glanced down at her watch and tried not to sound too impatient.

"Oh right. Sorry, Clarke," Octavia said quickly. "Let's have dinner tonight. Just the two of us. We can go over color palettes for the tables."

"Sounds good," Clarke said, repressing the groan she could feel fighting it's way out of her chest.

"Cool. See ya later sucka!" Octavia hung up while Clarke was still laughing.

They hadn't worked out dinner details, but if Clarke had to guess, she thought Octavia would probably text her fifty more times before dinner anyway. They'd be able to work out the details then.

Rising from her chair, she scooped up her files and left her office feeling lighter than she had in awhile. Everything in her world was brightening around her and she had a sneaking suspicion that the Blake's were responsible for it.

Around lunch time, Clarke was pouring her fifth, or maybe sixth, cup of coffee when she ran into Wells again. He was pacing around the break room looking very distracted and just a little on edge. Clarke let him be for a few minutes as she stirred in her sugar and watched him, confident that he was aware of her presence and simply trying to organize his thoughts before he spoke.

"It didn't go the way I planned," he said shortly, still pacing albeit a little slower than when she'd entered.

For once, the break room was empty, but even still, she was uncomfortable talking about patients in such an open environment. Any other day, Wells would have thought the same thing, but whatever was going on right now had clearly unsettled him.

Grabbing a styrofoam cup, she poured Wells some coffee and then walked to the door. "Let's go to your office," she said, gesturing for Wells to open the door because her hands were full.

Without a word, Wells crossed the room, opened the door long enough for her to step through and then took off at a brisk pace down the deserted corridor. She watched the back of his head as they marched in the opposite direction of her office, wondering what was going on inside it.

Once they arrived, Wells unlocked the door and ushered her in with a hand on the small of her back. Even in times of stress, the Jaha charm and gentlemanly manners never really left him, Clarke thought, but refrained from smiling. Wells was upset and smiling would be inappropriate if he caught her even if the reason wasn't related to the current situation.

Wells offered her a chair, not the one in front of his desk, but a comfortably overstuffed lounge chair that was one of a matching pair on opposite sides of a small mahogany coffee table. These, along with a small, comfortable couch, were where Wells conducted his craft.

Many times, he'd espoused the need for comfortable seating when dealing with patients, a sentiment that Clarke didn't really share. Her patients didn't need comfy chairs to get an exam and was positive that he'd paid for the expensive furnishings himself, because there was no way that TonDC had shelled out for such nice pieces.

Handing him the cup of steaming coffee, she settled into her seat and took a small sip as she waited for Wells to do the same. Clarke knew from experience that if she just waited, he would eventually start talking. Interrupting him while he was puzzling something out often frustrated him and she tried to avoid it if at all possible. So, she decided that she'd give him a full five minutes to gather his thoughts and _then_ she'd interrupt him if necessary.

Luckily, it didn't take more than thirty seconds of waiting for Wells to settle in and turn his perceptive dark eyes to hers. She recognized this as her cue to start asking questions, so she sat down her mug and relaxed against the leather backing of her seat.

"What didn't go as you had planned?" she asked quietly.

"The hypnosis," he said shortly, frowning down at the cup in his hands.

Clarke knew that he wasn't being curt with her out of irritation or malice, he was just so caught up in his head that he wasn't paying attention, so she tried again, keeping her voice steady and calm, two qualities she suspected he needed the most right then. "What about it was different from what you expected?"

"She remembered everything," he said simply, eyes looking lost in a river of grief.

"That's great Wells!" Clarke was excited. If Charlotte could identify her attacker, they might actually be able to get someone to listen to them.

"No Clarke, you don't understand," he said anxiously, clearly disturbed by her excitement. "She relived it under hypnosis, but her conscious mind may not remember it."

Clarke only had the bare essentials when it came to treating someone's mental health as it was a field of medicine she'd never been interested in pursuing, but she knew enough to understand what he was saying. No matter what Charlotte had said or done under hypnosis, it might not actually have helped her at all and based on how freaked out Wells was by what he'd seen, Clarke wasn't sure she _wanted_ Charlotte to remember their session.

"Tell me Wells," Clarke said gently, reaching across the small table for his hand.

"She was raped." He started with the most obvious thing as he let her hand drop and sat back in his chair. "Not just once," he added, his eyes dark and brooding.

"That matches the injuries I saw during her exam." Clarke's words floated in the silence, but she didn't know what else to say.

"Yes," he said and she watched his eyes fill with tears. "It must have been terrible for her. Not just the normal kind of terrible," Wells added quickly. "He didn't just use her body, he messed with her head. Got her to think that she deserved what he was doing. I think she was a virgin Clarke." Wells looked up at her, anguished by the possibility that this violent encounter might have been her first introduction into adulthood.

"That's terrible." Clarke words were lost in the silence between them as she tried to wrap her mind around how truly awful the situation was. She sympathized with Wells as well as Charlotte because now he'd had to experience it with her, although she didn't say it because she knew he'd deny it. Wells would never put his well being above someone else's.

"Yes, it was," Wells said simply and they sat in silence for a few moments, absorbing the horror.

"Will you be able to help her now?" Clarke was determined not to give up on Charlotte. No one was too broken to be healed, especially not with Wells in their corner.

"I think I might, but honestly… I'm not sure." Doubt colored his voice and Clarke didn't like that one bit, but she knew it was better than him lying. If Wells actually thought he couldn't help her and this wasn't just an attack of nerves, then they were well and truly fucked when it came to fixing Charlotte.

"I know that you will do everything you can. It may take time, but you will help her," Clarke said, letting her belief in him strengthen her words despite her doubts.

"When we started, everything was going well. She was answering questions, recognizing that nothing was going to hurt her anymore, but then towards the end…" Wells paused as he remembered. "She just got lost in it."

"That must have been awful for you. For both of you," Clarke said, wanting to hug him, but knowing he needed space.

"It was. The fear in her voice…," he met her eyes again, but then quickly looked away, "it was overwhelming. Haunting," he added as an afterthought. "I don't know how any person could… could do _that_ while she was making those sounds."

"A person couldn't, but a monster could." Clarke's voice was cold and she knew it, but she had no empathy in her body for someone like Cage.

Wells swept a hand over his face, perhaps to clear away the memories, and sighed. Clarke knew that Wells believed that there were no monsters. Criminals were a product of a corrupt society and mental illness, neither of which he saw as incurable. Wells had always been a hopeless optimist.

For many, many years, Clarke had thought exactly the same way. She'd lamented the fact that mental illness was such a stigma in their country and stressed over how few people sought help for completely controllable problems out of fear of being ostracized, but lately, she'd been seeing things through a different light.

Perhaps it was Bellamy's influence rubbing off on her or perhaps she was just getting worn down treating the worst of the worst day in and day out. How could you look at people, knowing what they'd done, and not see a monster staring back at you? It was human nature to assign blame and more often than not, she felt herself slipping into the same mind set she'd railed against for years. Some people didn't deserve redemption and Cage Wallace was one of them.

"At least now I know what to focus on in our therapy. I think under all of the negative things we experienced today, there was a small sliver of hope hiding inside." Wells' smile was twisted despite his hopeful admission. "Perhaps we can move forward now that we've gone back to the event. It's at least a start," he added with a sigh.

Clarke knew that their discussion was drawing to a close. Wells hadn't revealed a lot, and honestly she hadn't expected him to, but he'd unburdened himself enough to function and that had been Clarke's primary goal to begin with, but she had one more question before she left.

"Can we use this to put Cage behind bars?"

"No." Wells looked frustrated and angry, but absolutely certain. "You know as well as I do that defense attorneys would tear anything done under hypnosis to shreds and thats _if_ we could even get it entered into evidence in the first place. That's a big if Clarke."

"I had to ask." Clarke hoped that her voice didn't sound as word down as she felt in that moment, because she knew that for once, Wells needed her strength.

"I know you did and I'm sorry."

Rising from her seat, she went around to sit on the arm of his chair, reaching down to wrap him in a hug as she did. "It's going to be okay Wells," she said as he embraced her back, squeezing her a little more tightly than he normally would before they broke apart.

"Yeah," he said smiling up at her. "I feel good about where we can go from here. She's young and she has so much potential. I think if I can just make her see that this place, this situation," he clarified, "isn't the end of the road for her it might do wonders for her in the long run. I want her to know that she's strong and that her life is only just beginning," he finished with a large smile that she matched with one of her own even if it was a bit forced.

Sooner or later, Wells always turned back to the positive sides of life. The day might have been bad, but the future always looked bright to him. It was one of the best, and at the same time, most irritating parts of being his friend, but she wouldn't trade it for the world.

Clarke gave him one more squeeze before taking herself and her coffee cup to the door. Just as she was turning the handle, she remembered her conversation with Bellamy and stopped.

"Wells, I know that you and Bellamy don't always agree on things," she said, purposely choosing to ignore his raised eyebrow, "but he's working really hard to help her too and I wish that the two of you would talk to each other a little bit. You might learn something," she added even as he scoffed.

"Of course _he_ will learn something." Wells rolled his eyes in a move that was much more her style than his, but she didn't lose her temper despite his stubbornness.

"You know what I mean." Clarke narrowed her eyes at her oldest friend, trying to make him realize she was serious. "Just because he didn't receive an Ivy League education doesn't mean that he isn't smart or resourceful. He knows a lot more about things than he lets on."

"If you say so," Wells said with a shrug.

"I do say so," she said sternly. "For instance, did you know that Charlotte has been having nightmares? Nightmares that are bad enough to make her fear falling asleep?"

"How do you know that?" Wells asked, sitting forward in his chair as he waited for her to answer.

"She told Bellamy," Clarke said simply, arching an eyebrow at Wells' disbelieving look.

"Why would she tell him and not me? I mean I assumed that she was probably having a rough time sleeping just based on her situation and over all appearance, but if she is avoiding sleep simply because she'd afraid of what she will dream, I can help her. I can teach her coping skills for when she wakes after a nightmare. I can show her calming exercises to help empty her mind before bedtime. Hell, I could probably even get her a prescription sleep aide if she wanted one. TonDC is pretty anxious to keep all of this from reaching the press. I don't think they would balk at any prescription I suggest so long as it's not a narcotic."

"I don't know why she's speaking so openly to Bellamy, but you should really try talking to him." Clarke shrugged, happy that she'd at least given Wells a focus for his energy and in the process opened the door for future collaboration between Charlotte's two champions. They were both kind of adorable when they were being protective, she thought as she opened his office door and smiled back at her friend.

"I'll take it under consideration," Wells grumbled, waving her out of the room with a weary smile and a shrug. "And I'll see what I can do about the sleeping problems," he called out to her as she swept out of his office.

Clarke was smiling as she walked back to the nurses station and for once, didn't notice the odd stares that people were giving her. She was feeling a rare bout of optimism and wasn't anxious to have it squashed out of her, so she dove into her work and ignored the unpleasant whispering about her relationship with Finn that somehow still hadn't died out.

Apparently Raven was popular with both staff and inmates alike, something that had startled Clarke when she'd discovered it.

It was nearly impossible to reconcile the one and only impression she had of Raven with the bad ass engineer and heart of gold wonder woman that the rest of the building seemed to be half in love with. In a way, Clarke was jealous. Not only did Raven have Finn, she also had the entire building on her side, but Clarke tried to not let it bother her.

Glancing at the clock, she started mentally counting down the hours until she'd be off work and having dinner with Octavia, hopefully over many drinks, she thought with a sigh.

Dinner with Octavia was never dull even when she changed her mind and decided that Lincoln needed to tag along, and as Clarke looked at what could possibly be the thousandth swatch of fabric, she started laughing. Octavia looked confused which only made Clarke laugh more and before she knew it, she had tears streaming down her face and her stomach was cramping.

"Okay so I'm guessing you don't like the periwinkle ribbons," Octavia said with a huff.

"No, it's not that." Clarke tried to swallow the last of her giggles, but was failing miserably. "The ribbon is perfect. It will compliment the napkin rings beautifully," she added trying to pacify the bride to be.

"Then why are you laughing?" Octavia asked, as a small smile of her own started forming.

"Lincoln is asleep," Clarke said, gesturing to where Lincoln was slouched in the booth, chin on chest, looking like it was the first decent sleep he'd gotten in weeks.

Knowing Octavia, Clarke wondered if she hadn't been surprise attacking him with pictures of flower arrangements in his sleep. Clearly the man wasn't getting enough shut eye if he couldn't even make it through two hours of dinner and drinks without nodding off.

"Yeah," Octavia said frowning at the man who was supposed to be the love her life like he was a particularly ugly spider she'd like to swat, "Lincoln hasn't really been a lot of help with picking things out for the wedding," she added loudly, startling Lincoln into consciousness as she kicked him under the table.

"Wha- What did I miss?" Lincoln asked groggily, sitting up and trying to pretend he hadn't just completely passed out on them.

"Octavia was just filling us in on how well you've been helping with the wedding arrangements." Clarke hid her smile in her wine glass, but not before Lincoln saw it.

"I've been helping," he said defensively, shifting his legs out of the way of Octavia's next kick.

"You don't even listen when I talk to you. Clarke listens better than you and at least when she's bored she just looks bored, she doesn't fall asleep in the middle of a crowded restaurant!" Octavia's voice was rising as she worked herself up.

Clarke felt a little guilty. Perhaps she hadn't been as subtle as she thought with her lack of enthusiasm. She made a decision right then and there, that she would make an effort to be more involved, although she wasn't sure that was possible if Octavia was going to continue operating on the same manic level of energy she had been since they made their announcement.

"I do listen." Lincoln reached for Octavia's hand and squeezed her fingers in his. "I'm just not good at picking out color palettes, and trying to figure out what the hell tulle is, is something I'd be happy to do, but I can't think about much of anything when you come screeching into the bedroom at two o'clock in the morning with an armload of magazines!"

Clarke snorted, trying desperately to hold in her laughter as Octavia glared daggers at the two of them. However, when Lincoln's eyes met hers, they both completely lost it.

They laughed until Clarke seriously wondered if she was going to die from lack of oxygen while Octavia sat in stony silence, eyeing them both like they were crazy.

"I'm not bridezilla," Octavia said darkly which set off another round of laughter. However, the longer they sat there giggling like kids, the harder it was for Octavia to resist and soon her mouth began to twitch and before long, she was laughing too.

"Okay, okay. I will try to be less… demanding," Octavia said, stuffing the assortment of wedding paraphernalia littering their small table back into her bag and picking up her drink. Two hours in and she'd finally decided to have fun.

"Thank God," Lincoln muttered, earning himself another glare, but it was half hearted at best.

"So I know that I'm not supposed to talk about this in front of Linc, but he always seems to be around now days," Clarke said with a wink at Lincoln. "When do you have time in your schedule for the bachelorette party?"

Octavia squealed so loud that people at the surrounding tables stopped their conversation to look their way, and bounced so hard in her seat she nearly fell in the floor. Clarke tried to hide her amusement over Lincoln's exasperation as he tried half heartedly to shush her, and waited for Octavia to calm down enough to form coherent sentences.

"I wasn't sure if we were going to do anything. I didn't want to presume or anything you know?" she said staring up at Clarke through her dark lashes with such sincere happiness and surprise that it made Clarke's chest ache.

It was truly sad that someone like Octavia had been conditioned to expect the least when Clarke herself had been raised with such excess. It reminded her of the wedding gift she'd been planning for the two of them. Surely a three week trip to the Caribbean for their honeymoon was enough to make Octavia realize that she was just as worthy of pampering as everyone she did it for so effortlessly.

Clarke had already coordinated the plans with Lincoln over a secret lunch date where they'd practically driven to another state to avoid any restaurant where Octavia might accidentally discover them. Lincoln had told her all about Octavia's obsession with destination weddings and how disappointed she'd been when Lincoln had asked to keep the wedding a little closer to home.

Lincoln wanted to give Octavia everything she'd ever dreamed of, but he was also practical and knew that security issues for his parents would be a nightmare in a foreign country. It was going to be hard enough as it was to have a big wedding in the city with the Senator's newest controversial stand against abortion clinics riling up the voters.

Lincoln's family were deeply religious and trying to make that a part of their campaign strategy for next year's election, but Clarke couldn't help but wonder if the gamble would pay off in the long run.

As older constituents aged out of the voting pool and younger, more progressive ones took their place, the Senator might eventually find himself standing on some pretty shaky ground. Just thinking about the risk versus reward of various political maneuvers made Clarke's head ache. She would never want to be in politics. Dealing with the ever changing health care laws was difficult enough!

"Well we are definitely going to do something so you better get your party outfit ready," Clarke said, steering her mind back to the conversation she'd started. "And maybe you could find one for me too?" Clarke asked sheepishly.

"You bet babe," Octavia said with a face splitting grin. "I will message you my schedule so we can figure out a good time for both of us."

"Is there anyone else you want to invite?" Clarke asked, realizing that she didn't know any of Octavia's friends very well.

"I know that it's unconventional," Octavia started to say, but Clarke cut her off with an exaggerated gasp.

"Unconventional! Octavia I can't believe you," Clarke dramatically stated while Lincoln laughed at both of them.

"Oh shut up," Octavia said, shoving Clarke in the shoulder as she rolled her eyes. "I want to invite Monty and Jasper."

"Oh," Clarke said a little confused. "Well that's fine with me, but do you think they would want to do… you know… bachelorette stuff?" Clarke asked, glancing awkwardly at Lincoln. He was pretty laid back about most things, but it seemed impolite to rub in his face that she was planning on hiring an entire cadre of male strippers regardless of what else they decided to do. Hell, if she had to she would just pay them to follow them around from place to place. She was fairly certain Octavia would think it was hilarious.

"Why wouldn't they enjoy knitting mittens and volunteering in homeless shelters?" Lincoln asked innocently.

Clarke snorted and Octavia looked horrified, but he started laughing before Octavia could go off on him about women's rights, specifically their right to par-tay. At least Clarke was sure now that Lincoln wasn't going to be upset with her if she planned something a little racy.

"We are NOT knitting mittens or volunteering at homeless shelters for my bachelorette party," Octavia said seriously, glaring at her fiance for even daring to mention it. "Right Clarke?" she asked, glancing back at her uncertainly.

"Of course not!" Clarke threw a half eaten fry at Lincoln who was laughing hard enough to shake the table. "We are going to burn this city to the ground!"

Octavia burst out laughing and Clarke realized too late that, in her enthusiasm, she'd spoken much louder than she intended. People from nearby tables were definitely staring, but Clarke found that for once she didn't really care. They were in a restaurant that served burgers and beer as a Tuesday special, rowdy patrons were pretty much a given.

"Starting with this place!" Octavia cackled, raising her glass for a toast.

The mood was light and happy as they clinked glasses and toasted to good times with good friends and the possibilities that waited in tomorrow. All in all, Clarke couldn't have asked for a better evening.

Perhaps, by virtue of her lifetime of bad luck, she should have known that toasting something so hopeful and feeling so happy all at once would produce something equally as horrible in another part of her life, but she didn't. She naively finished her meal and spent another hour being silly with her friends before catching a cab home.

As soon as she arrived at her apartment, Clarke knew something was wrong. Her cell phone, which had run out of battery half way through dinner, started sounding messages as soon as she plugged it in. Curious about the sheer volume of notifications when she'd just been with the one person that contacted her the most, she sat down heavily on her bed, groaning as she kicked off her shoes and picked up her phone.

Fifteen voicemails and twenty three text messages flashed across her screen and a frown creased her forehead. Almost no one left voicemails for her. Usually it was only her mother telling her what a disappointment she was for not following her advice. Occasionally Indra let a voicemail but only if she hadn't tried text messaging her first.

With shaking fingers, Clarke opened the first text and her heart nearly stopped when she saw the words. Something had happened at the prison. Wells was in critical condition. That was all she saw before her eyes filled and she began frantically dialing numbers.

It was a miracle that she managed to get ahold of her mother and speak actual words through the torrent of tears streaming down her cheeks, but she did and Abby picked up on the first ring.

"Clarke, where have you been?" Abby asked, voice laced with sadness and just a hint of something else. "Thelonious is here. You should be too," she said before Clarke could formulate a response.

"I'm on my way," Clarke blurted out before hanging up the phone and rushing to put her shoes back on. Just as she was about to walk out the door, her phone started ringing.

"Hello?" Clarke didn't bother checking the caller ID because she was too busy locking her door and flying down the stairs.

"Clarke," Bellamy's deep voice drifted to her over the phone. "I'm outside," he added before she had time to react.

"Outside?" she asked stupidly, staring down at her phone like the blank screen might hold the answers to what had gone wrong in her life before lifting it back to her ear.

"Yeah, come downstairs and I'll drive you to the hospital. I was," he paused to clear his throat, "I was there when it happened."

"I'm coming," she said and hung up.

When she hit the sidewalk, Clarke looked around in a daze for a moment before spotting Bellamy's truck. It was full night by then and the black paint blended in with the inky darkness surrounding it, but it was unmistakably his.

Bellamy's headlights flicking on brought her back to the present and she jogged towards his truck trying not to fall in her heels.

They rode in silence as Bellamy sped them towards the hospital and whatever horrors awaited her there. It felt like a tight band was slowly constricting around her heart, and she was starting to have trouble keeping it together, her breath coming out in short gasps, when she felt Bellamy's hand on her arm.

She turned her head toward him and for a split second, their eyes met in the dark. His were nearly black in the dimness, but even without the light, she could tell that he was worried. About her? About Wells? She didn't know. All she could think about was Wells and getting to him as fast as she could.

Maybe it wouldn't matter that she was there. Maybe he'd already be just fine by the time they arrived, but the doctor in her would never let her forgive herself if she wasn't there, on the scene, to make sure that he got the absolute best care possible.

Ark Memorial Hospital loomed large in the distance as they sped into the city, driving way faster than the speed limit even through the still dense evening traffic. Bellamy seemed to instinctively know what roads were going to be jammed and avoided them with ease.

They arrived in the visitor parking much faster than she ever would have believed, and without saying a word, she jumped out of Bellamy's truck and started running. Clarke didn't bother to check to see if he was following and even if his footfalls were making noise, which they never did, she'd never have been able to hear it over the pounding of her heart anyway.

Clarke navigated the hospital hallways the same way that Bellamy had glided through traffic, letting her brain go on auto pilot as she sought out her mothers office. That wasn't where she really wanted to go, but she knew that rushing to the ICU with no clear idea of where Wells was at, would only lead to more delays in her seeing him.

Abby was sitting behind her desk staring off into space, when Clarke burst through her door without even considering if she should knock or not. In any other situation, the lack of etiquette would have earned her a stern lecture about the appropriate way to behave, but tonight, Abby only sighed and stood from behind her desk.

Confusion and then anger settled in Clarke's chest when she realized that Abby wasn't making any effort to either come towards her or tell her where Wells was. It wasn't until she heard someone drag in a shaky breath, that she noticed that Thelonious was also in the room.

He was sitting on her mothers pale blue settee, turned sideways, one leg drawn up underneath him and his face turned towards the window behind him. He didn't make any effort to turn or acknowledge her and when she looked closer, she could trace the tears falling slowly down his face. That, more than anything about the situation, unsettled her.

Why wasn't Thelonious with Wells? Why was her mother approaching her like she was a rabid animal? Why wasn't anyone talking to her!?

"Mom?" she asked uncertainly, feeling exactly like a scared child as her voice broke and she fought back hysteria. All she wanted was to know that Wells was alright. She needed one of them to start talking before she totally lost it, and it wasn't until she felt her mothers cold fingers brush her arm, that she realized how hard she was shaking.

"Clarke," Abby said, taking firm hold of her arm and turning her back towards the door. "Let's go to the break room and get some tea." Abby steered Clarke out the door and back into the deserted hallway beyond. This time of night, there was really no reason for anyone to be in this part of the hospital. Most of the administrative staff had long since returned to their homes and families. Not Abby though. Ark Memorial was her home and Abby had never really needed family.

"Mom tell me what's going on," Clarke said, spinning out of her mother's grasp as soon as the door was shut behind them.

"Clarke let's go to the break room," Abby said firmly and then turned on her heel, ignoring Clarke's questions and demands as they walked the short distance to the third floor staff room.

Her mother had never had any need of this staff room or any of the others for that matter. She had everything that this room had and more in her own office, and Abby preferred to be alone when she was not engaged in hospital duties, so the only time Clarke could ever remember her mother coming to this room was to find her or her dad after she'd made them wait three hours to see her. Duty came before family, always.

Once they were inside, Abby walked to the window and stopped, facing out toward the city. Clarke had barely entered the room, staying close enough to the door that she could rush out of it as soon as her mother told her what the hell was going on with Wells, and the more seconds that ticked by, the more angry Clarke became. Just as she was about to start yelling however, her mother took a deep breath and turned to look at her over her shoulder.

"Wells is dead," she said flatly, her eyes as dull as the muddy brown coffee bubbling away beside her.

For a moment Clarke's heart completely stopped and she sucked in enough air to empty the room, but still couldn't say a word. Her mouth opened and closed uselessly. Her eyes streamed through their swollen lids and she started to hiccup, but still Abby did nothing. There were no comforting words, no hugs or explanations. There was only her cool look and straight shoulders, as if she'd be able to ward off the reaper himself just by glaring at him in her superior way.

"Dead?" Clarke asked, voice barely above a whisper as she sank to the floor, completely lost in her misery. "How?" she choked out as she began to sob in earnest.

"Exsanguination," her mother said simply, her voice clinical and detached.

Clarke knew that her mother loved Wells, just as she knew that somewhere inside that ice cold body, Abby loved her only daughter, but right then, in that moment, she could gladly have killed her.

She'd just asked how her best friend died and rather than give a real explanation and maybe a god damn hug, her mother had given her a one word response that explained everything and nothing all at the same time. It was like she was purposely trying to cause pain.

"For Christ sake mom, can't you just be a human being for once? I don't want to have to ask Thelonious about how his only fucking son died!" Clarke screamed, too tired and heartsick to care that she was making a scene.

"Clarke," Abby said, her voice full of warning as she glanced around the empty room, probably double checking that they were alone so that she wouldn't have any witnesses to her embarrassing family drama.

"Don't you fucking 'Clarke' me. I just want to know mom. He… he was my best friend," Clarke said, her voice breaking as she buried her face in her hands and made herself into the smallest ball that she could manage as her gasps turned to sobs and her heart broke into a million pieces.

What did it even matter how he died? The only thing that mattered was that he was gone. She'd never again see his warm brown eyes dancing at her across the room, sharing an inside joke that only the two of them knew. She'd never have another discussion with him about politics or argue about which take out they should get. She'd never hear his voice again or see his smile and it was killing her inside.

Now it was gone. He was gone. All of their late night talks and inside jokes meant nothing. They were smoke in the wind just like the memories she had of her father. Clarke realized with a gut wrenching twist that she'd be able to visit them both at the same time now, because surely Thelonious would bury Wells in the Jaha family mausoleum, the one just a few rows away from the Griffin family plot that currently housed her fathers earthly remains.

She didn't realize how much she was shaking or how loud she'd gotten until she felt someone's arms wrap around her, pushing the quaking pieces of her body back together as they pressed her into a hug. For a moment she wondered if some nurse had come in, seen the disaster that she currently was and decided to hug a stranger, but then she realized that the stick thin arms around her and the lily of the valley scented hand lotion were too familiar to belong to some stranger.

Looking up from her ball, Clarke stared directly back into her mother's eyes and for the first time since she'd entered her office, Clarke noticed how red and swollen Abby's eyes were and how dark the circles under them had become. It only made her cry harder.

"Clarke," Abby said, pulling her daughter toward her as she too settled onto the cold tile floor. "There was nothing that anyone could have done. It was over so quickly. Wells wouldn't want this. He wouldn't want to see you tear yourself apart sweetheart."

"NO! Wells would want to be alive! He would want to be sipping scotch in that ugly leather recliner he's had for ages! He would want to be making love to Callie or reading outside on the swing or driving five miles an hour with the top down on the Jag. He'd want to be seeing his patients or arguing with his dad about morality in the work place. He'd want to be here… with me," she said, her voice catching on a sob as she pushed her mother away and stood.

Wells would never do any of those things again. He was gone now and Clarke didn't know how to handle that new reality. A lifetime of memories flooded her mind as she tried desperately to make sense out of her upside down world.

The lingering smell of her mother's lotion as Clarke wiped her eyes reminded her painfully that she'd never be able to hug Wells again and smell the mix of old books and Velvet Desert Oud. They'd discovered that cologne together, in Italy, and it was one of the few concessions that Wells made when it came to frivolous spending. That warm, woody, scent would always remind her of their time together there and she cried harder remembering how she'd smelled it, smelled _him,_ for the last time that morning without even realizing it.

Clarke didn't know where she wanted to be, but it wasn't here. Not with her mother who had always pushed her feelings away, the woman who had single handedly made it impossible for her family to love her. Her mother, the poised monster that had haunted her dreams since she was a child when she'd been too afraid to step out of line lest her mother be there to see it and frown disapprovingly. That person was definitely not a source of comfort.

Clarke needed to run. She needed to be moving as far and as fast as she could away from this place. It was the only thought that consumed her as she fled the break room, ignoring her mother's yelled protests as she broke free of her grasp, violently shoving the door into the wall as she escaped.

No one stopped her as she careened through the mostly empty hallways. No one said a word, but Clarke registered several familiar sets of eyes staring at her with pity from the safety of the nurses station. On another day, in another life, she might have stopped and let them comfort her. Some of those nurses were more family to her than her own family had ever been and if she thought hard enough, she could remember all the times they'd snuck her cookies or let her play with their highlighters while she waited for her mom to finish work so they could go home. They were good people, warm people who would have understood the pain that she was going through now and how much it echoed the passing of her father, but Clarke didn't want them or their comfort.

She didn't want them reminding her of everything else she'd lost so soon after realizing that Wells was gone too. It was still hard for her to believe that she would never see him smile or hear him tell her to take care of herself again and she didn't want to be rational about it. Not yet.

Her feet hit the pavement outside the hospital with a wet slap and she realized vaguely that it was raining again. It seemed appropriate given the situation. Without thinking about where she was headed, Clarke turned left and started running. The sidewalk was all but deserted as she ran the length of the hospital grounds, heading off into the night where nothing else could hurt her.

When she finally stopped, she found herself in the park surrounded by flowering bushes and weeping willows that seemed too happy for what had happened tonight. The sky was crying with her, but those damn pink flowers just danced and shifted, mocking her sadness with their bright cheerfulness. She wanted to rip them all up by the roots and stomp on them, but she was exhausted.

The run and the pain had left her drained, and Clarke couldn't do much more than stumble to the side of the path and sink into the wet grass beside the offending flowers, although she did manage to toss them a glare before she huddled into a ball and buried her face in her knees.

Clarke sat there in the rain for an indeterminable amount of time. It was long enough for her skin to turn to ice even in the late summer air and she became aware that she was shivering more from the cold than from emotion, but she still didn't get up. What did it matter if she was cold when Wells would never be warm again? The thought made her sick.

The worst thing about knowing a lot about the human body was that you knew everything there was to know about what happened to it after death. She didn't want to think about Wells' soft brown skin turning cold and waxy as the blood settled to the lowest part of his body. She didn't want the image of his dull lifeless eyes sinking behind closed lids or think about some random pathologist cutting him open to determine cause of death. Not Wells. It wasn't supposed to happen this way.

They were supposed to grow old together and have grandkids at the same time so that they could have Sunday dinner with a houseful of family. Wells was supposed to live to at least 93 and bore all of them to tears with tales of crazy patients while she complained about all the young whippersnappers and their progressive new treatments that weren't as good as how they did it back in her day. That was how their lives were supposed to go and god did she want it.

Footsteps alerted her that she was not alone and common sense probably should have had her running right back to the hospital or at least to a well lit area, but she didn't bother. If some mugger attacked her right now, they'd be lucky if she didn't tear their own arms off and beat them to death with them, such was the rage and hurt roiling around inside her.

The sounds stopped and she felt someone beside her, kneeling down in the grass. Her head snapped up and she was prepared to tell someone off for the intrusion, when she locked eyes with Bellamy. In all the chaos, she'd completely forgotten about him, but here he was. Somehow he'd tracked her down to this forgotten corner of the park and she couldn't decide if she was annoyed by his ability to judge her movements so well or grateful that he hadn't just left her to find her own way home when she'd bailed.

Without a word, he draped his leather jacket over her shoulders and the instant warmth made her shudder in relief. He didn't speak and she didn't want him to, but he sat beside her, getting soaked right along with her as she cried out an ocean of grief and let him pull her into his side.

When it was morning and she'd had time to process everything, she might be embarrassed about her behavior, but in that moment, his warmth and gentle touch were the only things she wanted. He was solid and real in a world that had suddenly turned nightmarish. Amidst all of the chaos, her scattered brain threw a message out to her, asking her if it would have been easier if she'd had someone like him around when her father died.

The thought startled her out of her reverie and she pushed back a little to stare up into his face. Bellamy looked down at her with sad eyes and stroked a finger along her cheek, wiping away tears and rain along with them. In her grief, she got lost in that gaze, his warm brown eyes so familiar and yet so different.

Without thought, she pushed her lips into his, seeking whatever comfort human contact could provide her and he returned her kiss, gently and without demand. It was over quickly, their lips sliding apart as their noses brushed against one another, but it was enough. Clarke was about to rest her head back on his shoulder, when his deep voice rumbled into the turbulent night air.

"Do you want me to tell you what happened?" he asked quietly, stroking her back and letting her body tell him if she wanted him that close or not.

"Yes," she said simply, fresh tears filling her swollen lids. "And no," she added, tucking her face into the bend of his neck.

He rubbed her back for a few moments, one hand trailing down her arms as he thought about what she'd said. She was aware that her response didn't make any sense, but damned if she could think of a better way to answer him. Thankfully, he seemed to understand what she wanted even when she hadn't been sure herself.

"He was in his office, going over his notes I think," Bellamy began, his voice deep and firm, but oddly tinged with regret. "For some reason Charlotte wanted to see him, started going into hysterics in her cell," he added and she could tell he was frowning without having to look.

"One of the guards sent up a request to put her in seg, but Wells somehow heard about it and stopped them, said that he would take care of her." Bellamy's hands kept their rhythm, but his voice took on a distant quality that Clarke assumed meant he was replaying the events in his mind, studying them and trying to make sense of what had happened.

"I don't know why he agreed to see her tonight, not after he'd already had a session with her today." Clarke felt Bellamy shake his head, but she didn't speak. "I wasn't even on the block. I didn't know anything had happened until it came over the radio and the prison went into lock down. I… I was on break," he said hesitantly and shame colored his voice.

"Bellamy you being on break didn't cause this to happen." Clarke lifted her head from his shoulder to look into his eyes, letting him know that it wasn't his fault even though she still didn't know what the hell happened. He didn't acknowledge her statement, he only turned away and continued talking.

"Charlotte must have gotten a weapon from one of her cellmates. I can't believe that she would have made one herself," he added and Clarke's heart felt cold.

Charlotte had done this? The cute little blond pixie that she'd been obsessing over saving for the past several weeks? _That_ Charlotte had hurt Wells? Surely that wasn't what actually happened. Clarke moved away from him, sitting back so that she could see his face better as he spoke, and willing him with her eyes to get on with it already.

"She… she stabbed him in the neck." Bellamy's voice snagged at the end, almost like he would cry along with her, but of course he didn't.

"What?" Clarke gasped, trying desperately to dispute this revelation in her mind, but coming up short of reasons that Bellamy would lie to her about something so serious.

"I know," he said, running his hands through his messy hair and lifting his face to the sky. It wasn't raining as hard as it had been, but it was still damp enough to stick his curls to his forehead.

"Why Bellamy? Why would she do that? Wells was trying to help her!" Clarke exclaimed, voice rising as she got upset all over again. Her head was pounding along with her tortured feet, crammed as they still were in her high heeled shoes, and her thoughts were going a hundred miles an hour. She needed Bellamy to explain to her how a tiny girl who'd never hurt anyone in her life, could suddenly turn into a blood thirsty killer.

"I don't know." He looked down at his hands where they rested in his lap and sounded defeated. "I didn't have time to question her. I just…" he paused shifting uncomfortably before finishing, "I just got in the truck and came to get you," he finished, lifting his eyes to meet hers.

It didn't make any sense and Clarke was too exhausted to figure it all out, but she knew that his admission should have meant something to her. Something big. At the moment, she didn't have room for it however, so she chose to ignore it.

"I need to see him." Clarke's voice was flat as she pushed up off the ground and wiped her damp palms against her soaking wet dress like it would make a difference. Bellamy only nodded, rising beside her as she turned and headed back the way she'd come.

The walk back seemed to take twice as long and her legs were aching by the time the bright lights of the emergency room came into view.

Clarke knew that she was a mess and she knew that her mother wouldn't be happy about how she'd acted, but she needed to see Wells. She needed to confirm with her own eyes that there was nothing she could do for him and that he was really gone, because the entire night had taken on a dreamlike quality that had left her feeling off balance.

Abby was in her office when Clarke finally made it back, but Thelonious was gone and somewhere along the way, she'd lost Bellamy as well. The air between them was strained as she fidgeted from foot to foot, not wanting to meet her mothers eyes and see the judgment there.

"Clarke are you alright?" Abby asked, startling Clarke out of her nervousness.

"No," she answered simply and shrugged, trying to apologize without having to actually say it.

"Would you like to see him?" her mother asked, and again Clarke was taken aback by her mother's strangely soft and forgiving attitude.

"Yes." Clarke's voice quavered, but she held it together, wrapping her arms tightly around her middle as her mother walked around her desk and once again ushered Clarke out the door.

"The injuries to his neck are not severe," Abby informed her as they neared a private room with the door conspicuously closed, "but you should prepare yourself for them anyway," she added, her voice taking on the distant, clinical tone that Clarke was so familiar with.

In a way it was better. She wasn't sure that she could handle her mom acting anymore out of character than she already had by not ripping her a new one for screaming at her and then running through the hospital like a crazy person. Was this how she'd been after her dad died?

Clarke couldn't remember. Everything about that night had been a blur and she hadn't been allowed to see her fathers body once they'd brought him to the hospital. Her mother hadn't allowed it and at the time, she'd been too young and heartbroken to argue. In hindsight, she could see that her mother had done her a kindness by refusing, but at the time, she'd only been furious.

Abby knocked softly on the door, which struck Clarke as odd until she swung it open and Clarke saw Thelonious sitting by his son's bed. Clarke stepped inside and her mother shut the door quietly behind them.

Thelonious raised his head, meeting her bloodshot eyes with his own before nodding and returning his eyes to his sons face. Clarke watched as he rubbed a thumb over the back of the hand he was holding as if Wells could still feel his touch.

Once her brain sorted all the details about Thelonious, there was nothing to do but look at the person laying on the bed. It took several moments for her to see him, really see him, because she was already crying again and the sight that awaited her was one she'd never wanted to see at all.

Wells was ashen, the way only corpses could be, and still wearing the clothes he'd come to the hospital in. The analytical side of her brain helpfully supplied that, that small detail meant he'd been dead on arrival, otherwise they'd have cut off his clothes in the emergency room.

For a few brief moments, she cataloged every detail of his outfit down the the scuffed brown loafer missing it's match and the black dress sock that was hanging half off his right foot. His favorite watch, the one that Callie had bought him last Christmas, was still ticking away on his wrist and he was still wearing his mother's cross like he'd been doing every day since he lost her. Clarke could see it glinting in the low light where it rested on his chest, but something about the chain wasn't quite right.

Stepping closer, Clarke bent down to put a finger on the soft metal, tracing it down toward the cross. Pulling back, she saw that her finger was stained a dull, muddy red, and her stomach rolled as she realized what was wrong about it. It was covered in blood.

As soon as she realized what was on her fingers, she saw the rest of it. There was blood everywhere. It was all over his shirt and some of what was on his clothes had soaked into the bed underneath him. It was dried to his skin and hair, even clinging to his hand, the one that Thelonious was still holding.

Clarke took a quick breath through her mouth, realizing that the coppery tang in the air was the smell of his blood. Wells's blood. Exsanguination was accurate, there was enough blood on him to determine that at least. It was everywhere and for a moment, it was all she could see, all she could think about.

It was funny really, how movies, even the gory ones, never quite got things like this right. Sure, they'd have buckets of blood splattering all over the walls when someone got their throat cut, but even with the gratuitous amount of special effects, they never quite managed to capture just how much blood could bleed out of a person that was still alive when an artery was severed. It was something that she and Wells had always joked about when they were having one of their horror movie marathons. Both of them having gone through medical school, they knew way more about things like that than any normal person, and she wondered if that was part of the reason that Callie never wanted to join them.

She'd always said it was just because the movies scared her, but maybe it was just that Callie got sick of her and Wells ruining the movie by talking about how stupid it was that the special effects team had people spitting up blood when they'd been shot in the shoulder or wondering out loud why they never showed anyone crapping their pants after they died. And you didn't even want to get Wells started on the inaccurate trajectory of blood spatter!

The average human body held about one and a half gallons of blood. That probably didn't sound like much to most people, but if you could imagine taking a gallon of milk out of your fridge and dumping it on the floor, you could get an idea of how large blood pools would be in real life. In fact, Wells had offered to demonstrate the effect to Callie one night when they'd all been drinking and watching The Hills Have Eyes. Callie had screamed bloody murder when Wells had brought a nearly full gallon of milk into the living room, and Clarke had almost peed her pants laughing so hard.

At that exact moment, Clarke remembered that she'd never get to do that again. No one would ever joke with her about Darth Vader or make her laugh so hard over _Hostel_ that she cried. Wells wouldn't be there to talk her through crazy relationships or pry her out of her own head when she was feeling down. So many parts of her life would never be the same again without him and the realization crushed her like a mountain of bricks.

It was a lucky that there was another chair pulled up to the opposite side of his bed, because otherwise Clarke would have collapsed onto the floor. Abby was there, with a hand on her shoulder as Clarke started crying again, wiping away tears over and over again while she stared at what remained of her best friend.

Unfortunately, the new vantage point from her chair opposite Thelonious, afforded her a clear view of the injury that had killed Wells and suddenly, Clarke understood why Thelonious had chosen to sit on the other side.

The gash wasn't huge, it was more of a deep puncture really and Clarke could see where something dull had torn at the skin rather than slicing it cleanly. A wound like that would have hurt much worse than one from a knife and Clarke found herself hoping that Wells had, had so much adrenaline coursing through his body that he hadn't felt it.

Looking away quickly before she completely lost it, Clarke locked eyes with Thelonious. He was watching her, studying her reaction as he cried silently for his son.

"Why did this happen Clarke?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion.

"I… I don't know," Clarke answered honestly, her voice breaking badly. She felt her mothers hand tighten on her shoulder and glanced up at her gratefully.

Abby may not be a lot of things, but she was strong and Clarke was suddenly very glad that she didn't have to be in this room without her. Clarke had no idea what to do for Thelonious because she barely knew what she was going to do for herself, but Abby's steady presence seemed to soothe him or at least calm him enough that he dropped his eyes back to his son's hand.

Before anyone had time to say or do anything else that might actually rip Clarke's heart out of her chest, the door burst open and Callie fell into the room. Her eyes were already red rimmed and one of the nurses was holding her arm, steadying her lest she fall. Someone must have already told her what she would find when she came in the room because she didn't look as shocked as she might have otherwise.

Clarke stood from her place beside Wells and walked towards her, but Callie only pushed passed, falling into the chair Clarke had vacated and throwing herself over Wells's body, headless of the blood that had dried and stiffened his shirt.

The terrible keening that came from somewhere deep within Callie overtook the sound of everything else in the room and it absolutely tore Clarke to pieces. Here she'd been concerned only with herself, so wrapped up in her own loss that she hadn't even thought about how hard Callie was going to take it. Clarke felt like a horrible person all over again.

"He… he can't be dead," Callie wailed, turning to face Clarke like she'd be able to reverse it.

"Callie I'm so sorry," Clarke started to say, taking a step towards her, but Callie cut her off.

"NO! He can't be gone. He can't be! He can't be dead," she said over and over again rocking back and forth as she cried.

Clarke had no idea what to do for her, but thankfully, her entrance had given Thelonious something else to focus on. He got up from his own seat and rounded the bed so that he could envelop Callie in his arms. They rocked together, Thelonious shushing her the same way Clarke remembered him doing with Wells as a child, while Callie cried and said unintelligible things into his shoulder.

Her time of wanting to see Wells had passed. Clarke had looked at him and determined with her own eyes that it was true, he was gone and now she just wanted to leave, but there was no graceful way to do that. Not with Callie crying and Thelonious barely holding them both together. Thankfully, her mom saved her from doing something terrible, like throwing up on someone or screaming her way out of the hospital again.

"Clarke, I need you to help me make some arrangements," Abby said, nodding toward Thelonious when he glanced up at them.

"O-Okay mom," Clarke replied numbly, letting her mother usher to the door.

Just before the stepped through however, Clarke heard Callie say something that caught her attention. She was whispering it over and over like a mantra, and at first, Clarke couldn't understand what she was saying through the tears, but when she finally did, her heart squeezed so painfully that she wished she hadn't heard it at all.

"He asked me to marry him… he wanted to get married," Callie said, her eyes big and round with shock.

Clarke couldn't watch anymore. It didn't matter if it was rude or if she would have to trample someone to get out of that room, she was leaving. Her mother stepped aside to let her pass without saying a word. She needed air or water or … something. Her body felt hot and cold all in waves and she was sure that she was going to puke any second, but Clarke managed to make it back to her mother's office without incident. Once there, she was pressed into a chair and supplied with a glass of brandy.

"Drink it," Abby ordered, taking a seat across from her and pouring one for herself.

Clarke did as she was told, feeling the burning amber liquid all the way down to her toes. Strangely, rather than further upsetting her already roiling stomach, the brandy calmed her. She finished her glass quickly and then placed it neatly on the coaster in front of her, mindful of the seriousness of leaving rings on her mothers neatly polished coffee table even if her entire world was in shambles.

"Go home and get some rest Clarke," Abby told her quietly when she saw that Clarke had finished. "I will call you when we… well if there is anything you need to know. I'm sure that Thelonious will want to make arrangements for him soon, but there will also be the investigation to deal with," she added with a frown. "I hope they finish quickly so that he can be laid to rest in a timely manner."

And there she was, the cold, hard woman she remembered, Clarke thought darkly as she stood and prepared to leave. Any good will she'd had towards her mother for saving her back in that room evaporated the instant she'd referred to Wells's funeral as an event that needed to be arranged in 'a timely manner.'

"Thanks," was all Clarke could force out as she walked stiffly toward the door without looking back.

"That boy you were with," Abby called, rising from her place on the settee, "he will be driving you home? You shouldn't be driving right now Clarke."

"Yeah sure," Clarke said, staring at her mother for a long moment and trying to reconcile the cold exterior with the obvious concern that those words conveyed. "Goodnight mom," she added, not wanting to leave without saying it, "I love you."

"I love you too Clarke." The sincerity in her mother's voice brought fresh tears to Clarke's eyes, but she blinked them away, offering her mom a small smile and a nod as she gently closed the door.

In years to come, she would only remember details of this night. Grief was odd that way, crushing you one moment and leaving you scrabbling to match together disjointed pieces the next. She knew it because she'd already lived it once and a part of her wished, perhaps insensitively, that she could fast forward to that time and leave all of the gut wrenching pain behind. That wasn't realistic though, and Clarke knew with certainty that darkness was looming before her, perhaps blacker than anything she'd experienced in her life up to this point.

Losing her dad had been horrible, but now, after having lost them both, she couldn't even imagine her life anymore. It was as if fate had passed through and robbed her of her future before she even knew what was going on. Clarke felt more alone and more adrift than she ever had before in her life even as she assured her mother that she wasn't going home alone, that she'd be riding with someone. It was a paradox that she couldn't even begin to fathom in that moment, as she walked on stiff legs back to the lobby.

Truthfully, she had no idea if Bellamy was still waiting for her. She hadn't even been aware of him following her back into the hospital. It didn't matter. She'd pay the small fortune for a cab back to her apartment if she had to, but just as she was trying to work out what she'd done with her purse and phone, she glanced up to see Bellamy standing by the door with both in his hand, clearly having been waiting for her.

"You okay?" he asked gently, placing his free hand on the small of her back as he led her out the door.

"No," she said for what felt like the thousandth time, putting her head down and walking the rest of the way back to his truck without saying another word.

One good think about Bellamy was that he didn't feel the need to fill the silence. He was comfortable just being quiet, and seemed to know instinctively when she did and didn't need to hear from him. It was so easy being around him, even on one of the worst nights of her life and she knew that at some point she was going to have to look really closely at her feelings surrounding him, but it wasn't going to happen that night.

Breaking one of her own biggest rules, Clarke unbuckled her seatbelt and slid across the seat toward him, burrowing into his shoulder as they drove into the darkness of an empty highway and away from a chapter in her life that had been closed forever.

 **A/N: I'm still working on formatting issues with this website and honestly... I've been considering discontinuing updates here. It makes me really sad, because this website is what introduced me to fanfiction and made me fall in love with some of the great fanfiction authors out there, but it's SOOOOO frustrating to spend hours writing something and then days editing it only to have to go back and re-edit it here because this website doesn't like how you've formatted something for no discernible reason! I have tried (with tried being the operative word), to mention in the past that I also post on the other major fanfiction website under the same author name and story title. If you don't see updates here anymore maybe check there. Also, it's much easier to get in touch with me there. I almost always respond to comments (simply because the process is so much cleaner/easier) and I would love to hear from you! If I don't see any of you again, know that I absolutely love all of you! You've helped me grow as a writer, given me something to look forward to when my life was turned upside down, and generally made me feel like creative writing was worth pursuing! THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart! 3**


	11. Unsinkable Ships

Wells's funeral was quiet, dignified, and everything that it should have been. Clarke sat through it stoically, having already shed enough tears to fill an ocean. She was numb, running entirely off the analytical side of her brain as she went through the motions and listened to people who'd never known Wells as she had, talk about how much they'd loved him.

Callie was there of course, supported by her own family and wearing the beautiful engagement ring that Clarke had barely gotten a glimpse of that night in the hospital. Through the fog of pain, Clarke found herself wishing that Callie had been pregnant. As selfish as it was to wish a baby on a desolate, grieving woman, she couldn't help but think how wonderful it would have been knowing that a little piece of Wells would live on.

Looking at Thelonious, with his three days of beard growth and empty eyes, she thought it would have been better for him too. Not easier, because losing Wells would never be easy for either of them, but it would have given him something to focus on, a reason to hope, and looking at him now, he looked like a man who desperately needed something to hope for.

Abby was sitting to Clarke's right. Strangely, she had come with Assistant Warden Kane, whom Clarke had nodded at respectfully, assuming that he'd come to pay his respects because of his connection to Thelonious. That was, until she realized that he and her mother had ridden together. Her mother's new relationship was something she was sure she'd want to know about later, but she couldn't bring herself to care about it today.

Several people from TonDC had come, including Bellamy, but Clarke had chosen to come alone. She'd been staying at the ranch instead of her apartment ever since the night they'd lost Wells, taking the tons of sick time she'd accumulated over the years and not caring at all how it looked regardless of the pointed remarks her mother had made about it.

No one at TonDC cared if she was there or not and it wasn't like she needed the money. Besides, she wasn't sure that she could walk into the same building that housed Wells' killer and not do something rash.

Thinking about Charlotte had her glancing over at Bellamy and when he turned to stare back, she glared at him. Any thoughts of tenderness or good will had faded with the darkness the night he drove her home from the hospital.

The next day, the investigation into the stabbing had begun and even though Clarke wasn't there to see the nitty gritty of it, she'd gotten the highlights.

Bellamy had testified that hours before Wells's death, just before lights out, he'd had a private talk with Charlotte about her inability to sleep. The nightmares that had kept her awake seemed like a mild inconvenience compared to the sleep Thelonious had lost over the death of his only son, but Clarke hadn't pointed that out as her mother explained why Bellamy had spoken with Charlotte just before bedtime that night.

Apparently, their little chat consisted of a pep talk where he'd told her that she had to 'slay her demons' or some other such garbage that Clarke was sure had sounded inspirational at the time, but in retrospect had turned out to be the stupidest words to ever leave his mouth. Even though Clarke knew that Bellamy hadn't meant it literally, the fact that he'd said that to a mentally unstable girl who later stabbed and killed her best friend, wasn't something that she could easily get over.

Charlotte had also been questioned about the incident and had told special investigators that Wells had made her relive the rape during hypnosis, something that Wells hadn't realized she would even remember, and that when Bellamy told her to slay her demons, she'd understood that to mean that she needed to kill Wells.

It didn't make any sense, none of it, but then again, most crimes never did. There was no way to justify something like that and even though Clarke felt sorry for Charlotte, she would never be able to truly forgive her for taking Wells away from them.

After realizing that Clarke knew about Charlotte's confession, Bellamy had tried to call Clarke to explain. He'd apologized on voicemail when she'd refused to answer the phone and he'd even sat outside her door for thirty minutes, knocking and pleading with her to talk to him, but she couldn't. Not then and not now. Even if it was indirect, he'd still played a part in Wells' murder.

Oddly, when the investigators had been considering charging Bellamy as an accessory to murder, it was Thelonious that had stepped in and squashed it. He'd spent the weeks since, focusing all of his rage on Charlotte, painstakingly pouring over surveillance footage and statements from anyone and everyone who'd seen or heard anything that night, trying to find enough evidence to get her the death penalty, but he didn't want Bellamy charged.

It was crazy, an irrational impulse from a man pushed to the extreme edge of emotional trauma. Or at least that's what she'd thought at the time.

As much as Clarke hated the idea of what Charlotte had done, she still couldn't quite bring herself to hate her enough to want her to die. It would just be one more senseless death on top of so many other bad things and Clarke knew that Wells wouldn't have wanted it either.

She'd tried saying that exact thing to Thelonious on one of her frequent visits to his home, but he'd become furious with her, yelling incoherently and eventually dissolving into tears in the middle of his once pristine living room.

Abby had been checking up on him and so had Clarke, helping with what they could when he would let them, but he hadn't really wanted help. He was in too dark of a place to understand that it was okay to let people help you and because of that, his once tidy home was starting to look more and more like a garbage dump.

Empty food containers with barely touched food were now scattered all over the place. Thelonious had refused to let his housekeeper in to do laundry or dishes, so things were piling up. He'd also stopped shaving and most days, when he wasn't at TonDC trying to shoehorn his way into the investigation, he was wandering around his estate in pajamas, looking just as lost as he obviously felt.

Even today, when Clarke would have expected him to look as sharp as he ever had out of respect for his son, Clarke couldn't help but notice that his stubble had mostly gone gray and that his suit wasn't pressed.

She wished that there was something more she could do for him, but she also understood where he was at. She'd been in that place too when she'd lost her father. Wells' death had hit her hard, it had torn her to pieces just the same as losing Jake had. Wells was every bit as much a part of her family, but this time, she was more prepared to deal with the grief and knew how to start picking up the pieces again, a skill that she'd seriously lacked after her father's death.

Part of her worried that as soon as the numbness was gone, she'd be right back in that dark place, just like Thelonious. Clarke knew that Indra was worried, worried enough to call Abby and make reports, but she didn't get mad about it or try to stop her. She'd simply let Indra know that she was okay, and while she understood her concern, she didn't want to talk about it and after the first week of watching her like a hawk, Indra had backed off, giving her the space she so desperately needed.

The last three weeks she'd spent walking around the property, remembering better times, and drawing when she needed to get something out of her head. Clarke was pretty sure that Nyko thought she was nuts with the way she'd just wander around, skin smudged from loose charcoals, without a clear goal or destination in mind, but he did his best to avoid her and that was just fine by her.

Lincoln and Octavia were another story altogether. At first, Clarke had spoken briefly with Octavia and let her know that she needed some time off from wedding planning, but that she still always loved hearing from her. But, after Bellamy's revelation, Clarke hadn't wanted to talk anymore.

It was nothing against Octavia and she knew deep down that she was being unfair, but every time she heard Octavia's voice it just reminded her of Bellamy and all the painful feelings surrounding him.

Octavia always wanted to tell her how sorry Bellamy was and convince her that it wasn't his fault, but Clarke wasn't ready to listen. She didn't want to deal with it at all and Octavia eventually got the hint.

As much as it hurt to listen to her last tear filled voicemail, where she told Clarke she'd be there when she was ready, Clarke still didn't want to deal with speaking to Octavia. Lincoln, on the other hand, left her with little choice. He hadn't called or text, he'd just shown up at the ranch and let himself in.

They'd spent a night drinking and talking about college and how much Wells and Lincoln had disliked each other, something that Lincoln had never admitted before. Clarke had laughed for the first time in days listening to Lincoln talk about how he'd always felt stupid around Wells and how that led to him being competitive and doing childish things, like purposely crashing his birthday party just to prove that she was better friends with him than Wells. Unfortunately for him, that plan had backfired and Lincoln had been left sitting at a party with a bunch of 'nerds' that he didn't know, drinking non-alcoholic beer (which was just the worst) and hoping that Clarke would leave so that he could too without losing face.

After he was finished talking about all the things that he and Wells had done to drive each other crazy over the years, she told him about the one and only time that, as far as she was aware of, Wells had sided with him. The night of the costume ball at his parent's house.

Lincoln didn't elaborate on his uneasiness that night over her mysterious dance partner, in fact he seemed uncomfortable with the topic, but he did smile when she told him how Wells had grudgingly admitted that Lincoln had good instincts and advised her to trust him. It was sweet and silly how much it seemed to mean to Lincoln when she said it, but Lincoln's eyes turned sad even as he smiled.

She hadn't heard Lincoln talk so much or so openly about Wells, well, probably ever and it was nice knowing that she wasn't the only one who would have those memories. Having someone to share Wells with made her feel ever so slightly less alone and true to his character, Lincoln hadn't said one word about either of the Blake siblings the entire time he was there.

Lincoln wasn't pushy. He didn't want anything from her or expect her to act any certain way, and that was part of the reason she'd always loved him despite their incredibly different personalities. Underneath that cool frat boy exterior, with all the posh clothes and masculine swagger, Lincoln was very attuned to other people's feelings. It was one of his best qualities in Clarke's opinion, and it was the reason why he was sitting in the pew next to her, her hand tucked securely underneath his arm as some stranger from Wells's college days droned on and on about chess club.

He glanced down at her and then followed her eyes to Bellamy. Clarke noticed that he frowned slightly before turning his face back to hers. With one tan finger, he reached down and turned her face towards his own shaking his head slightly when she stared back at him in confusion. Without ever saying a word, he was letting her know that she should drop it because this wasn't the time or the place to get into an argument with Bellamy. She nodded and he let his hand drop, resting it on top of hers and giving it a little squeeze as he turned his attention back to the speaker.

Clarke had thought long and hard about whether or not she wanted to say something at Wells' funeral. She knew that Thelonious had chosen not to and she understood that, but she also felt very strongly that if the situation were reversed, Wells would be the first one to stand up and speak on her behalf.

Knowing that, she'd prepared a speech, something dignified and appropriate, so basically nothing like what she and Wells' relationship had been like, and she'd arranged to go last that way if she got upset, or couldn't make it through it, she'd be able to leave right after.

Maybe that made her a coward, the trembling in her hands certainly seemed to say so, but she was determined that she would do it regardless of how little she wanted to. With that determination straightening her spine, she waited for the last person to leave the podium and then she stood, releasing Lincoln's arm as she dug the note cards out of her purse and took the steps up to the stage.

Looking out on the sea of faces, Clarke felt a moment of wonder and she almost smiled. The entire church was full, some people sitting uncomfortably close to one another and a few people were even standing in the back. These were all the people who's lives Wells had touched and there could be no greater testament to the type of person he was or the goodness that was within him than the sheer number of people in attendance today.

"I'm Clarke," she began, picking a point on the back wall and focusing on it. "Wells and I have been friends my entire life. I can't even remember a time when we weren't friends. Judging by the amount of people here today, I don't think I need to tell you about how great of a person he was because I'm sure you all already know, but Wells was more than just a big heart. He was funny and silly and about a million other things that I'll never be able to describe to those who don't already know it.

Wells cared about everyone he met in a way that transcends most people's understanding of what compassion is and he never asked for anything in return, be it from a patient or from a friend. He was smart, I don't think we ever played a strategy game that he didn't win, and I flat refused to play trivia games with him because I'm a sore loser," she said and almost smiled when people started to laugh, but by then she was almost unaware that anyone else was even present.

Staring at the back wall, in a church Wells had attended as a child, and feeling closer to the divine than she'd ever felt, Clarke could almost imagine that he was standing there with her. He would have told her that her jokes weren't funny she thought, glancing down at her note cards and wondering what the hell she was doing. Wells wouldn't have given some stupid speech that he agonized over for weeks. He would have spoken from the heart.

Setting the note cards down, Clarke looked up and swept her eyes around the room. Who cared if what she said wasn't dignified? Wells wouldn't have cared because he wasn't stuffy or snobish. He wouldn't have wanted her to feel so stressed about something so stupid, she was sure of it. In reality, he probably would have told her off for even considering doing something that made her feel so terrible!

Clarke crumpled the note cards in her fist and took a deep breath. She thought about Wells and about everything they'd shared and a small smile formed on her lips. She'd start with honesty, just as she always had with Wells.

"Wells would have told me that my jokes aren't funny because I'm a doctor and doctors don't like using laughter, which is the best kind of medicine, because it would hurt our bottom line," she added as an aside. Clarke's smile widened as she thought of him saying those exact words, and she laughed softly along with everyone else. "Turns out, Wells wasn't great at telling jokes either," she added and this time she heard people agreeing with her.

This is how Wells would have wanted people to speak about him, she thought and felt lighter than she had in days. Her mother and Kane were sitting close together, leaning towards each other whispering as they smiled at her story.

Lincoln was watching her with approving eyes and a serious face because Lincoln was always serious. Callie and her parents were nodding in agreement and Clarke saw Callie laugh through her tears, but the only person's reaction that she found really mattered was Thelonious's. He was the one who knew Wells the way she had. He'd been closer to his son than anyone she'd ever seen, despite their differences in opinion.

Even when Wells went through his rebellious period and didn't want to follow any of the carefully laid out plans that Thelonious had provided him, Thelonious had still supported him. Clarke couldn't help but contrast her relationship with her own mother to theirs over the years.

She had went so far away from what Abby wanted for her that she was practically on a different planet and anyone with eyes could tell how strained that had made their relationship, but it wasn't like that for Wells and his father.

Clarke had often wondered what it would have been like to have such familial bonds with trust and respect for each other and the decisions that each of them chose to make. She'd never told him, but growing up, and especially after her father died, she'd envied Wells and his closeness to his father. It was a bond built not just from love, but from mutual respect, something Clarke doubted she'd ever receive from her own mother.

Glancing up again, her eyes met Thelonious's and he smiled. It was the first time she'd seen him smile since before the night Wells died and it made her heart squeeze painfully. Clarke returned his smile with a watery one of her own and he nodded at her, clearly telling her that this was okay, she wasn't embarrassing his son with her rambling.

Clearing her throat of the lump that had formed, Clarke tried to reorder her thoughts before speaking again.

"Wells was a wonderful person who had great respect for every person that he'd ever met, even if he didn't agree with them. It was almost as intolerable as it was endearing," she added honestly, and grinned. "But beyond that, with all jokes aside, Wells was one of the best people I've ever known and he shared that love and respect with so many others, but none so much as his father.

Wells and Thelonious didn't always see eye to eye," she continued, and smiled when she saw Thelonious shaking his head.

"No we certainly did not," she heard him say softly and the people around him laughed.

"Despite all the bumps in the road, they had a very close bond built on mutual respect and so much shared love. You would never have known that Wells chose to be a psychiatrist when his father had always wanted him to study law because Thelonious always supported him. Always. There was no middle ground. He was proud of every single accomplishment that Wells made and even if he didn't say it, Wells knew it and loved him even more for it."

Clarke's eyes never left Thelonious's as she spoke and she saw him start crying again just before her eyes became too full to see him clearly. No matter the pain she felt saying these words, she owed it to Wells to make sure that Thelonious knew just how sincerely he was loved.

"Wells was strong and dedicated to those he cared about. He was my harbor when things got rough and he was always there to talk me through it. No matter the time or the place, Wells was always there and I wish to god that I'd been there for him," she said, tears she'd promised herself not to shed, spilling out to chase each other down her cheeks. "If… if I had been there that night maybe I could have saved him the way he always saved me." Her voice broke and she had to clear her throat before continuing.

"I will never know and it will be my single greatest regret in this life. I hope that sometime, in another place, I will get the chance to make it up to him," she finished, stepping down amidst the silence her words had caused, and hurrying back to her seat before tears made her too blind to see where she was walking.

As soon as Clarke was back on the bench, Lincoln wrapped an arm around her, kissing the top of her head as she tried unsuccessfully to staunch the flow of tears that had so overwhelmed her. Truthfully, she hadn't planned to say it, she hadn't even really known she was feeling it, but after having admitted it, she knew that deep down, it was true. Clarke would always wonder if she could have stopped the bleeding or prevented the attack altogether if she'd just been paying more attention, if she would have just been there that night instead of out having drinks with Octavia and Lincoln.

Her mother reached over and squeezed her hand and for once, Clarke didn't pull away from the contact. She let her mom hold her hand while she cried into Lincoln's chest, and she felt better for it.

Just as the preacher was about to stand up and end the service, Thelonious rose from his seat and crossed the room towards her. Clarke looked up at him confused, but he only smiled sadly at her before dropping a familiar kiss on the top of her head.

Without a word, he turned and walked down the center aisle without looking at anyone, and left the church. There was confused silence for a moment before people started murmuring. Perhaps it wasn't gracefully done, and perhaps it wasn't what people expected, but Clarke understood.

Thelonious had heard what he needed to hear and now he was done. He was ready to lay his son to rest and to grieve for him in private so that he could heal as much as time would allow. He didn't need to hear the words the preacher said to end the service or listen to the music that played as people filed out of the Church. For him, the only thing left was to lay Wells to rest, but the walk to the mausoleum would be one undertaken in private.

That was the way Thelonious wanted it. It would be just he and his son, as the church provided pallbearers carried Wells to his final resting place and Clarke understood that too, as did Callie.

Through it all, even though she was clearly heartbroken over her loss, Callie had been as respectful of Thelonious's wishes as he had been of hers, both recognizing that the other was someone very dear to Wells.

On the way out of the church, Clarke spotted Thelonious standing a ways away, letting everyone clear out before he went to say his last goodbye and she had a sudden urge to run back inside. This was it, the real end, and all of a sudden, she wasn't sure that she was ready for it.

Lincoln had been pulled into conversation with mutual acquaintances and had drifted away from her side, the place he'd been clinging to all day, careful not to leave her alone, but she _was_ alone. Watching people file past as they shook off their grief like a winter coat, Clarke had never felt more alone in her life. Suddenly, she wanted to scream at them. How could they be so casual when her best friend was laying in coffin not even a dozen meters away? It was wrong, all of it.

Wells should be here with her, not sitting inside some closed casket in a stuffy old church surrounded by people that didn't even care enough to be truly sad! It wasn't fair!

Clarke's breath was short and shallow and her heart was beating out of her chest as she turned against the tide and stepped back inside the now empty church. Her heels echoed loudly on the tiled floor as she made her way back to the front, back to where he was waiting.

She stopped before the cold slab of wood that held the star character in so many stories of her life and had the strangest urge to throw open the lid and shake him. Wells wasn't supposed to leave her! That wasn't the way any of this was supposed to have worked out and she was furious with him for doing this to her.

Her hand was extended, fingers brushing the lid, when she felt arms slide around her, lifting her gently away before she could do something stupid. She struggled at first, not quite realizing what was happening other than someone was trying to trap her here, in this place of nightmares, but then she realized that the arms weren't really holding her down. They were actually holding her up, keeping her safe from herself and everyone else.

Clarke stopped struggling, going limp as she started to cry in earnest. There was no more dainty, lady like crying, she was ugly crying and she didn't care. It felt like her life was ending just as much as Wells' and she didn't care what people thought about it. She was just thankful that Lincoln had stopped her, saved her from herself before she could open the lid and ruin everyone's memory of Wells's service.

"It hurts," she cried between breaths, squeezing her arms around herself so tight that she'd likely bruise.

"I know," he said into her hair, pulling her more tightly against his chest.

Clarke hiccuped and spun around in confusion, jerking violently out of his arms when she realized that the voice didn't belong to Lincoln at all.

"What the hell is wrong with you Bellamy? Leave me alone!" Clarke cried, backing away from him as she desperately tried to stop sobbing long enough to get herself together so that she could leave without causing a scene.

"I just," Bellamy said… but trailed off as he ran a hand through his hair, messing up the curls even more than they already were and clearly at a loss for words.

"Just nothing," Clarke spat at him. "I don't want to see you now. I don't want to see you tomorrow. I don't want to see you ever!" she yelled, half tempted to punch him right in the face.

"Clarke you don't mean-" he started to say as he stepped toward her.

"This is my best friend's funeral! Can't you just be a decent person and leave me alone for one day?" she asked, sinking to the floor and burying her face in her hands, no longer able to control the torrent of emotions she was experiencing and wishing desperately that she could go back to feeling numb again.

"Clarke I-" but again he was cut off only this time it was from a very different source.

"What did you do?" Lincoln asked, his voice frosty as he strode up the center aisle toward where Clarke sat on the floor, headless of her dress and the spectacle she was making of herself.

"I didn't do anything. I just followed her inside because she was upset and I didn't want her in here alone with… with all of that," he said gesturing down at her, but Lincoln didn't want to hear it.

Any sense of camaraderie they had built between them recently for the sake of Octavia, vanished in that moment, as Lincoln took a threatening step toward Bellamy and Bellamy's hackles rose in response.

Lincoln was aware of everything that had happened between she and Bellamy after their night of drunken reminiscing. They'd talked about everything from Finn and what a disaster that was, to the day that Lincoln first realized that he was attracted to a girl with a slight mustache and severe overbite that they'd met at Dominga's Pizzeria their junior year in college. He hadn't taken all of it well, especially the parts involving Bellamy, but he had managed not do anything drastic about how he felt, up until then at least.

"Leave. Now. Don't come around her. Don't call her. You shouldn't even think her name," Lincoln bit out, his hand curling into a fist.

By this time, the soft understanding Bellamy that had peeked out from behind all the layers of smug asshole that Clarke was used to seeing, had disappeared back into wherever he kept his other personalities. Lincoln, a large dominant male, had challenged him and Bellamy wasn't going to take that sort of thing lying down. That wasn't the sort of man he was.

Fortunately for everyone, just as things were about to come to blows, the doors opened again, only this time it was Thelonious.

"Both of you get out," he barked after taking in the scene. "Now," he added forcefully when they didn't move.

Thelonious strode towards them and both Bellamy and Lincoln made room when he reached them, but neither of them had chosen to leave, which was either very brave or very stupid, Clarke couldn't tell which as she wiped her face with her hands and probably smeared off half of her makeup.

Without another word, Thelonious reached down and hauled her to her feet, placing a steadying hand on her back when she swayed and then he turned them both so that he could glare back at Bellamy and Lincoln.

"I said both of you need to leave. Clarke is going to stay with me to…" he paused, pain flashing across his face, "to lay my son to rest," he finished, sounding more defeated than angry.

Clarke watched as Bellamy and Lincoln glanced at each other and then back at her.

To Lincoln she nodded, letting him know that it was okay and without another word, he turned and left. When her eyes drifted to Bellamy, she had no idea what to do. She didn't even really understand how she felt or what she truly wanted. In that moment, the only clear feeling she had was the desperate need for all of it to end. The whole day, everything. She just wanted to go back to her apartment and spend some time alone.

Bellamy studied her for a few moments and seemed to come to a decision, because he turned and left, following Lincoln's path out of the church. From somewhere in the periphery, Clarke saw the preacher and a few young men in matching suits step toward them.

"We are ready," Thelonious said, guiding Clarke toward the casket as the pallbearers lifted it and started their march towards the door.

It struck Clarke all at once that Thelonious was sharing this moment with her. It was a huge gesture and Clarke felt almost uneasy being a part of such an intimate moment with him. She understood how difficult it was for him, knowing that he was an intensely private person, and Clarke appreciated the kindness for what it was.

Looking up at him, Clarke met his eyes and he smiled sadly as she acknowledged the moment. He may be Wells's father and she may have been only his friend, but they shared a common thread that was stronger than anything else and that was their love for Wells. As they stared at each other, an understanding passed between them and it made the walk a little easier, Clarke hoped for both of them.

The preacher said a few words as the pallbearers arranged the casket inside the family mausoleum and she and Thelonious looked on silently, standing side by side as Wells completed his last earthly journey. When they were done, Thelonious thanked them and they left as silently as they had come leaving the two of them alone with Wells.

She thought about all the times they had shared and the things that she would miss most about her friend. She reminisced about the good times and bad, appreciating them both equally now that they were gone and wondered if she would ever stop losing people. Then, out of the silence, Thelonious spoke, startling her out of her reverie.

"Clarke I need you to do something for me," he began, not turning back to face her as he stepped towards the casket and began arranging the flowers left there.

"Of course," Clarke said, confused by the gravity of the conversation and the oddness of the timing.

"I need you to testify against Charlotte." His voice was flat, not even a hint of emotion coloring it.

"Of course I can give a statement if you want," she said more confused than ever. "I was treating her for several things before…" she paused, swallowing hard, "before this. I can certainly attest to her altered state of mind."

"No," he said loudly and more coldly than she had ever heard him say anything.

"Pardon?" Clarke asked, wanting to back away from him, but also not wanting to draw attention to herself lest he turn around and force her to face whatever was in his eyes in that moment.

"You can not testify that she was mentally incapable of understanding her actions." The anger behind his words was clear even if it wasn't directed at her. "She murdered my son!"

"I know Thelonious, but how can I say that? It isn't true. Charlotte wasn't in her right mind when she did this. Wells's notes will be evidence enough of that," Clarke said, desperately trying to make him understand that his witch hunt against Charlotte was going to lead nowhere good.

"Nothing that Wells wrote in his notes would prove that she wasn't mentally competent," Thelonious stated coldly, finally turning to look at her.

The way the light came in through the thick metal grates over the windows framed him, as well as the casket behind him, in an eerie glow though his face remained shadowed. It was unsettling, almost as unsettling as their conversation.

"I can't testify to something that isn't true Thelonious," she said, trying again to make him see reason. "I would be perjuring myself."

"Not if there was no documentation to prove otherwise." Thelonious's voice had turned reasonable, cajoling even, which was almost scarier than the cold menace that proceeded it.

"But there _is_ documentation. Lots of it." Clarke had a sinking feeling in her gut trying to warn her of where this was going, but she pushed it away, unable to believe that Thelonious was suggesting something illegal even if he was grieving the loss of his son.

"Not anymore," he said calmly as if he'd just told her it was raining instead of admitting that he'd committed a felony.

"What… what did you do Thelonious?" she asked, scared that she wouldn't like the answer.

"What I had to Clarke."

"Wells wouldn't want this," she said with certainty, shaking her head as she backed away, finally ready to leave this place.

"No! Wells would want to be alive not stabbed to death by some druggie street rat. He worked so hard all of his life, you know that, and for what? So that he could die in a prison working a job that didn't matter, taking care of people who don't matter?" Thelonious shouted, each word punctuated with a jab of his finger.

"But they do matter. They mattered to Wells." Clarke was shocked that Thelonious would not understand something so simply true. Wells had always believed that his work at TonDC mattered. Always.

"They shouldn't have." His voice was ice and Clarke realized with a cold clarity born from years of dealing with her own instability, that the man looking at her now was as far from stable as a person could be. It scared her and she wanted to leave as soon as possible, but his gaze still held her, arresting her movement.

Her heart was hammering in her chest, and she'd broken out in a cold sweat. Adrenaline pumped through her veins with no where to go, and she felt a wave of nausea grip her stomach before she spoke.

"I can't do what you're asking," Clarke said, breaking eye contact and finally summoning the will to move as she pushed at the heavy iron door and prepared to leave him alone with his thoughts. Whatever was going on in Thelonious's head was dark and dangerous and Clarke didn't want anything to do with it.

"Think about whose side you're on," he said, grabbing her shoulder from behind and causing her heart rate to skyrocket, but just as quickly, he let go his grip and she stepped forward, out of his reach and back into the sunshine outside.

"There are no sides in this." Her voice was firm despite the trembling in her legs, as she shook off the odd sensation that his hand was still on her.

"Run Clarke, run back to those boys. I'm sure it's fun having them fight over you, but remember who you are. Only one of them is fit to be with you," Thelonious added and the turn in conversation unsettled her even more.

Clarke glanced behind her to see him standing in the shadows, a queer smile on his face, watching her leave and she shuddered.

All the way to the parking lot, she felt his cold eyes on her back, but when she turned to look, he was nowhere to be seen.

As soon as she rounded the church and caught sight of the parking lot, the fear that had been gripping her heart eased. Lincoln was waiting for her by his car, arms folded casually across his chest, suit jacket slung across the back seat.

Bellamy was in a very similar position only he was on the opposite end of the parking lot, staring at her approach from behind his sunglasses. When her heels touched the pavement, Bellamy started toward her. The closer they came to each other, the more his face changed and Clarke put extra speed into her steps hoping to avoid him entirely by escaping into her car before he reached her.

After everything that had just happened, she had no idea what her face looked like and she really didn't want to have to explain any of it to Bellamy until she'd had time to process it herself.

"Clarke," he called as she sprinted for her car which was parked a few spaces away from Lincoln's.

"Back off," Lincoln said, falling into step beside Clarke as she headed for her driver's side door, maintaining distance between her and Bellamy with the space of his body.

"What the hell happened? Your face…" Bellamy said and Clarke glanced fearfully back the way she'd come, back to wear Thelonious was presumably still waiting, sure that she'd see that scary smile following her all the way home.

Something about what Bellamy said or perhaps just how spooked she was, must have convinced Lincoln that something really was going on and Bellamy wasn't just being a pushy bastard, because the next thing she knew it was him spinning her around and then she was faced with both of them staring down at her with nearly identical expressions.

"Clarke what's going on?" Lincoln asked softly, careful not to speak to loud or try to touch her once the hand that had completed turning her body had dropped away. He was good at reading people, and Clarke was never more grateful for it, because right then, she felt like her skin might crawl right off her body and more touching was the last thing she wanted.

"Nothing. Could we just go?" she asked, fumbling for her keys. "I just want to go."

"No," Bellamy and Lincoln said at the same time. They glared at each other, but the heat was quickly lost in their careful observation of her.

"Thelonious he… he's just upset," Clarke said, chickening out at the last minute before telling them what really happened.

"It's more than that Clarke," Bellamy said softly and he almost reached out, but hesitated at the last minute, letting his hand fall back to his side.

"I agree," Lincoln said although he looked pained admitting it.

"He was talking about the investigation." Clarke's voice was shaky and she was wiping her hands over and over again on her clothes without noticing it, trying desperately to remove the cold sweat that had accumulated on her palms. "He wants me to testify."

"That seems pretty standard." Lincoln's voice remained neutral as he frowned down at her looking every inch the lawyer that he was.

"Yes, of course," Clarke said feeling suddenly very foolish. She wanted nothing more than to get in her car and drive away, to put this madness behind her. It was too much, too soon after losing Wells. The stress and anxiety of the day swamped her and she swayed where she was standing.

Bellamy, always quicker than she thought he had a right to be, lunged forward, taking hold of her arm and steadying her. She pushed his hands away, embarrassed by her lack of strength. The last thing she wanted to ever be was someone's damsel in distress.

"What else did he say," Bellamy asked, his deep gravely voice grating at her already raw nerves.

"Nothing. It was nothing," she insisted, anger replacing the fear that had fogged her brain at the mausoleum. It was cleansing, that fine burning in her mind, it made her feel stronger and safer so she held onto it, focusing on stoking it's flames and keeping other feelings at bay.

"Clarke if something happened in there-," Bellamy said, taking another step toward her, not in a threatening way, but in a serious way. He had on the face he used to get answers, but thankfully Lincoln intervened before she had a chance to explode at him.

"Let's just leave it for now," Lincoln suggested, smoothly cutting off Bellamy's questions and her angry retort. "Listen, Clarke. I don't think you should be driving right now."

"What? That's ridiculous! I'm fine." Clarke was exasperated with him and trying very hard to keep a lid on everything she was feeling, but things were about to spill out if he didn't quit pushing. Her emotions were all over the place, swinging up and down as swiftly as her chaotic thoughts.

"No. You aren't," he said simply, taking her arm and guiding her toward his own vehicle.

"I can't just leave my car here." She struggled vainly against his inexorable pull.

"It's fine. I can have someone come back for it," Lincoln answered simply.

"I'll call Monty and Jasper. They rode here together so one of them can drive your car back," Bellamy piped in, apparently having kept pace with them without Clarke realizing it.

She swung around, finally breaking free of Lincoln's grip and glared at Bellamy in confusion. "Do you mean the two that wrecked their _own_ vehicle at my house not that long ago? Yeah, that seems like a great idea," she added sarcastically. Sarcasm was better than crying she reasoned, fully prepared to have a verbal war with Bellamy if it meant she didn't have to think about anything else for a few minutes.

"Jasper is a little crazy and all over the place, but Monty is a safe driver," Bellamy said with a shrug. When she didn't respond immediately he sighed and tried again. "Look if you don't feel comfortable with them driving your car I will drive it and they can follow in my truck."

"No I don't want to be driven home like a child," she said, crossing her arms over her chest and preparing to argue further.

"Then stop acting like one," Lincoln said from behind her.

She whipped around to look at him, hurt that he would say something so mean. It was totally unlike him and she wasn't sure what she had done to warrant such a response, but she assumed she must have been behaving pretty badly to ruffle his normally unflappable feathers.

"Lincoln I-," but she couldn't finish as her throat suddenly closed around a knot she hadn't even realized was waiting to choke her.

"That's enough Clarke, it's time to go," he said, turning away from her and opening the drivers side door of his car. Just before he stepped in, Lincoln turned to them again and spoke. "Give him your keys," he demanded, sliding behind the wheel.

Clarke stared at him shocked, but her fingers were already fumbling inside her purse for her keys which she handed to Bellamy without looking at him.

Just as she was preparing to turn away, Bellamy's fingers caught her chin and turned her head toward the tree line. He heart skipped a beat when she noticed the shadowy figure watching them from between the exposed stones. Thelonious had been standing there, perhaps they whole time, waiting for what? For her? It sent a shudder down her spine.

"It isn't about you," Bellamy said softly, releasing his grip and ushering her into Lincoln's passenger seat.

She understood then that Lincoln's abrupt change in behavior was about concern for her well being not about him being angry with her and once again she felt like an idiot. Clarke nodded at him, thanking him quietly before falling into the seat and quickly buckling herself in.

"We're going to the ranch," Lincoln said and Bellamy nodded, walking quickly back toward his truck, cell phone already in hand.

Clarke found herself wondering how far out Monty and Jasper were and if Bellamy would have to wait there long. Hopefully they hadn't gotten too far because the thought of Bellamy alone in that parking lot while Thelonious watched him, gave her chills.

"He'll be fine," Lincoln said flatly as he accelerated out of the parking lot and made a left onto the narrow concrete road. She hadn't said anything, but he'd read her thoughts as easily as he ever did, a fact which might have annoyed her any other time.

Clarke watched the little out of the way church that Wells had loved so much, disappear in the side view mirror and only when every last stone was completely out of sight did she look away. It felt like her heart was breaking all over again leaving him behind, but she knew from experience that you had to keep moving forward no matter how much it hurt.

When they were finally back on the interstate, Lincoln's rigid demeanor relaxed into something she was more familiar with and she glanced at him as he took a deep breath and let it out, his nostrils flaring slightly as it passed.

He glanced over at her and gave her a reassuring smile before reaching across the console to take her hand. It was a small touch, but it warmed her chilled body all the way down to the bone and the painful muscle cramps that had plagued her all day started to ease. She was safe here, in Lincoln's car and the bubble he created around her.

There was no pain here if she didn't want to think about things, and Lincoln was never going to force her to talk. He would just be there, steady and warm, as long as she needed him. Clarke knew that she was lucky to have such a person in her life and regretted all the time they'd missed because she was too busy to look him up after she'd moved to the city.

"Thank you," she said quietly, hoping that her eyes conveyed the sincerity she felt.

Lincoln only nodded and turned back to the highway, squeezing her hand a little for reassurance as they drove in silence toward the only place that had ever felt like home.

-o-o-o-o -o-o-o-o-o-o -o-o-o-o-o-o-o- o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Clarke didn't return to TonDC for nearly a month after Wells's funeral and had spent the majority of that time at the ranch reconnecting with Indra and trying to move forward. In truth, she didn't think she'd ever be ready to go back, but she knew that she needed to if for no other reason than to clear out her office.

Over the past few weeks, she'd been thinking more and more about her mother's offer to leave TonDC and join her at Ark Memorial. Abby had made a point to assure Clarke that she could take all the time she needed before she started in her new position, probably trying to sweetens the deal.

There was something about taking a job from her mother that made Clarke feel slimy and small, as if she hadn't spent the last ten years being independent and proving that she could make it on her own merits rather than live off her families money, but she couldn't imagine ever being happy at TonDC again. She knew that she could apply for another position at a different hospital, but then she'd have a long commute even from her loft and it seemed like more of a headache than it was worth.

Unbeknownst to her mother, Clarke had been browsing through exchange programs recently, and wondering if she should have done more to pursue her artistic dreams. Wells had always said she didn't spend enough time listening to her heart and doing things for herself and after everything that had happened, something about it felt right. She could travel and draw or she could go back to university and finish out her art degree, the one she'd abandoned in favor of medical school. For the first time in her life, Clarke realized that she could do whatever she wanted.

There was nothing tying her down anymore. No hopes of impressing her mother, or drive to prove herself could hold her back. Not now. No one depended on her and nothing tied her to one place. She was essentially, completely in the wind if she wanted to be. It was an oddly liberating thought.

Nyko walked passed the tree she was sitting under and she looked up at him and smiled. He returned the gesture, inclining his head towards her, but like usual, he didn't stop to chat. Clarke had been watching him while she was here, studying his habits and mannerisms, observing his gentleness with the horses and in general just trying to figure him out.

She'd even done several quick sketches of him, admiring the way the light played on his features and highlighted the tattoos that at first had seemed so off putting, but now seemed simply to be a part of his calm grace. The large tribal designs flowed across his tanned skin, winding up his neck and into his hair line, tempting her with their meandering and making her fingers itch for her charcoals.

There was nothing between them besides a level of respect and perhaps mutual understanding of the others reticence, but she couldn't help but admire him and be curious about what his story actually was. Nyko wasn't exactly loquacious and that was okay because neither was she at the moment, but it would be nice if he eventually trusted her enough to open up, even just a little.

They left each other alone and even Indra seemed to respect his boundaries, not trying to meddle in his daily activities the way she did everyone else that worked on the ranch.

Clarke had managed to find another day maid to help Indra in the house, and had taken great joy in watching her disgruntled friend complain about everything that the new girl did wrong. If it wasn't the dishes being put away haphazardly, it was the kitchen towels being folded "sloppy" and Clarke was reminded over and over again that there was only one real boss in this house and it certainly wasn't her!

Despite all of the grumbling, Clarke could tell that Indra appreciated the help and often caught her sitting outside, sipping tea and reading a book, or simply digging around in the flower beds, a past time that Clarke hadn't seen her enjoy in a long time. It made Clarke feel better knowing that her completely unprofessional absence from work was serving a purpose at least to someone. It had been far too long since she really stopped to take notice of the people and places in her life.

Lincoln had left her at the ranch the day of Wells' funeral and Bellamy had delivered her car shortly after. He didn't bother to come inside, simply leaving the keys in the ignition before taking over his own vehicle and pulling slowly down the drive. Clarke wondered if she should have thanked him the way she had Lincoln and even Octavia, who'd tried her very best not to overwhelm Clarke with demands and had even forgone the funeral to give Clarke her space, but she couldn't bring herself to pick up the phone and dial his number.

She wasn't ready for that yet. In fact, she'd barely touched her phone, other than to do the obligatory message check before she went to bed at night and this night was no exception.

They'd enjoyed a light dinner that should have been awkward considering that she was doodling idly in a notebook and Indra was deeply engrossed in her latest harlequin romance, leaving poor Nyko to stare off into space, but it wasn't. Their silence was easy, not strained the way it might have been with others and when it was over, they all pitched in to clean up before heading off in their own directions for the night.

For Clarke that meant soaking in the bathtub and then browsing her netflix queue before bedtime. Tonight, when she picked up her phone and saw that she only had two messages waiting, she sighed in relief. For days after the funeral, she'd been bombarded with well meaning friends who seemed to constantly nag her to "get back out there" or "just take it slow" and honestly, she was sick of even attempting to respond.

This time, it was just a paragraph long text from Octavia letting her know that she missed her, but understood with a brief mention of how sorry Bellamy was for what happened tacked on at the end, practically the exact same one she'd been getting every couple of days for weeks, and a picture of the office that her mother hoped would be Clarke's. She typed out a quick reply to Octavia, letting her know that she missed her too, but she needed more time, and ignored the other message completely.

Navigating her queue had become a tricky thing lately because so much of it reminded her of Wells and the binge movie nights they hadn't had in forever and now never would again. Stupid rom-coms were out of the question because they forced her to examine her own troubled love life, so she settled for documentaries, this time selecting one about supposedly haunted buildings that was sure to be ridiculous. It didn't matter, the background noise was just something she needed to help her fall asleep.

Normally she'd put on some music, turn off all the lights and let it sooth her into dreamland, but music elicited a level of emotional connection that she neither wanted or needed at this juncture in her life, so she'd been avoiding her normal ritual for awhile.

Wine was out of the question too, Indra had seen to that. The wine cellar, which held too many memories of Bellamy's skin for her to ever be entirely comfortable in again, was officially locked for the duration of Clarke's stay and she hadn't even bothered to protest.

Indra knew her well and didn't want to see her go down that road again, so when Clarke had wandered into the kitchen intending to retrieve a bottle of something red and sweet and found the door handle locked, she'd simply turned around and headed back the way she had come, aware that Indra was watching her through the reflection in the window. In a way, Clarke was grateful, because she honestly didn't know if she would have been able to resist self medicating into sleep every night if Indra hadn't been around to keep an eye on her. It was just too easy.

A bottle of wine, a few pain killers for her headaches and she'd be out like a light. No dreams to wake her midway through, no incessant spinning of her thoughts, just inky blackness and quiet. But, Clarke knew that none of that would really help her, not in the long run. She had to figure out how to deal with things on her own. She had to sort things out and find a path to move on or she'd be lost forever and this time there was no Wells to pull her back from the edge the way there had been with her father.

The thought made her sad, and she squeezed her eyes shut before any tears could leak out. It still hurt when she thought of him, or when something she saw reminded her of times they'd shared, but being here, where'd they'd played as children, where there were so many good memories, she was discovering that it was getting easier to remember the good times without dwelling on what happened. Here, in this place they'd shared their childhood dreams, it was easy to feel his presence.

Just yesterday, she'd been walking her horse down a well worn path to the lake and noticed a carving on a big oak tree that couldn't have been left by anyone other than Wells. It was a date, the day he'd decided to go into psychiatry instead of law school, and a quote from his favorite book. Standing there, staring at the the deeply carved lines, she could almost feel him standing beside her with his pocket knife in hand, marking his place in the world, asserting to everyone that he was his own person and intended to follow his own path. It made her smile.

Climactic music drew her attention back to the TV in time to see what she assumed was supposed to be a ghost flash across the screen. She smiled at the dramatic music and cast over acting, and rolled over on her pillow, deciding that tomorrow she'd head into work, pack up her things, and open a new chapter in her life.

TonDC was just as gray and drab as she remembered and Clarke prepared herself for the perky receptionist as she slid through the glass doors, but for once, the girl didn't have anything to say. Puzzled, but pleased that she didn't have to force small talk, Clarke let the guard wand her and then set out for her office, avoiding the eyes that followed her as she passed.

The nurses station went silent as she rounded the bend, and she tried not to let it bother her, but she could feel their stares like a physical weight, and was glad when her office door finally closed behind her. Her desk was exactly the way she left it, but her plants had withered and died.

She hadn't even thought of them.

Picking up the small potted plants, Clarke dumped them in the trash bin, strangely upset with herself for having let them die from her neglect, but determined to move on with the day without having a break down. That was the last thing she needed.

There was no reason for her to open any of the files in her inbox or bother putting on her lab coat because she didn't intend to stay. In fact, the longer she sat there staring at the potting soil and brown leaves filling her bin, the more she felt out of place. There wasn't room for her here anymore and it wasn't just because of Wells. Clarke didn't fit here and she realized that she never really had.

Standing, she walked to the door and with one last determined glance at her office, she locked up and headed for the administrative offices where she hoped to find Thelonious.

It took a lot of courage for her to walk up to his door and knock after their last unsettling conversation, but she managed it.

Thelonious opened the door, looking as neat and trim as he'd always been, not shaggy and unkept as she'd last seen him, but she could tell that he'd lost weight. There was a sunken quality to his eyes even though they were hiding behind his wire frame glasses, and Clarke thought his shirt and trousers looked a little baggy, but she was happy to see that his beard was at least neatly trimmed and his eyes weren't as bloodshot.

"Clarke," he said, standing aside so that she could enter and then gently closing the door behind them. "I was beginning to wonder if you were ever coming back," he said in what she assumed was meant to be a light joke, but the quality of his voice was too serious for it to pass as one.

"Yeah, about that," Clarke said nervously, taking the seat he gestured towards as he too sat down. "I'm done here Thelonious, I don't belong here anymore," she said quickly, avoiding looking at the dozens of photos of Wells that littered his office by staring at her lap.

"That's not true Clarke, you will always have a place here so long as I am in charge," he said quietly as he studied her, fidgeting in the chair across from him.

"I appreciate that. I appreciate everything you've done for me. Letting me have the time off and… and not firing me after what happened to Murphy," she added, her eyes never leaving her lap as she relived the shame of just one of her many mistakes here. "But… I can't," she said, choking off the rest of what she was going to say.

"I understand that it's hard," his voice was little more than a tired sigh, "but you can do a lot of good here Clarke and we need you on staff. You know how hard it is to find good doctors in a place like this."

Guilt swamped her, just as he had intended, and she started to wring her hands, anxious to have this meeting over with. There was nothing that would change her mind, she was leaving this place regardless of whether or not they needed her. She had never been more certain about anything in her life.

"I can stay until you find a replacement, but I'm leaving Thelonious. I can't be in this building, work with these people, not after everything that happened. There are just too many memories."

"I understand," he said with quiet resignation as he stood up from his chair to retrieve a folder out of the single large filing cabinet in his office. "I took the liberty of having this prepared for you," he said, passing her the folder and resuming his seat.

Clarke took it, looking confused as she flipped the cover open and stared down at the neatly typed papers within. At first, her brain couldn't make sense of what she was reading, but the more she scanned it the better she understood.

"It's your severance package." His voice was devoid of any emotion that she could tell and her heart picked up it's pace.

He'd known that she was coming back only to leave. He'd known it probably since that day at the cemetery and he'd drawn up all the paperwork for her. It would have been a wonderful gesture of understanding and support if she didn't have such an uneasy feeling all of a sudden.

"It may take some time to find a replacement. I would like it if you stayed until they were trained to take over, but I understand if you can't commit your time to that," he said, fingers steepled in front of him as he stared at her with guarded eyes.

"Of course. That's more than reasonable," Clarke agreed quickly, flipping the file shut and standing, prepared to leave the office immediately now that things were settled. She didn't want to be in here alone with him anymore. There was something still very off about him though she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was exactly. He might look like the old Thelonious, but he most assuredly wasn't.

"Wonderful," he said, nodding at her in dismissal. Clarke took that as her cue to leave and walked rapidly to the door.

Just as her fingers touched the doorknob however, he spoke again, forcing a chill down her spine.

"Clarke," he said, stopping her just short of pushing open the door. "Have you given anymore thought to what I said? About testifying for Wells? About helping his murderer receive justice?"

There it was again, the sick feeling that he was playing a game that she didn't really understand. She had hoped that he would have forgotten what they'd talked about inside the mausoleum, that he'd just been upset and speaking out of grief, but this confirmed the worst. He'd been serious about her lying on the stand, lying to ensure that Charlotte got the maximum penalty.

"I have," Clarke said, trying to hedge before he forced her to say something that he wouldn't like to hear.

"Good," he said simply, smiling for the first time since she entered his office. "I will expect your statement on my desk before the end of the week," he added with a dismissive wave.

Clarke nodded and then scooted out the door as fast as her feet would carry her. She'd have her statement on his desk alright, but she doubted that he'd like what it said.

As soon as she was back in her office, Clarke settled into her chair and fired up her computer. The ancient machine hummed slowly to life and she drummed her fingers impatiently, waiting for it to start up. When the familiar screen saver, a caricature of the Justice League that Wells had sent her months ago, finally filled in on her screen, she wasted no time opening up Microsoft Office.

The blank page stared back at her from the screen and despite the overwhelming urge to put her thoughts to paper, she hesitated, worried that she was making the wrong decision.

What she really wanted to do was talk to Wells about it. He'd always been her moral compass and she'd always known that she could rely on him to speak to her objectively and help her put things into perspective. Who was going to do that for her now?

A knock sounded on her closed door, relieving her from having to dwell on that depressing thought, and she called a greeting as she closed out of the program and waited for whoever it was to enter.

Bellamy stepped through the opening, apparently having discovered she'd returned through his extensive spy network. Clarke couldn't say that she was particularly happy to see him, but she knew that their confrontation had to come sooner or later. Better to get it out of the way now so that way they could both move on.

"Clarke," he started, stepping toward her desk with his hand outstretched like he might take one of hers in his own, but she sat back, folding her hands in her lap before he could touch her. Looking slightly hurt, he sat down instead, clearing his throat and obviously trying to organize his thoughts.

"Look, I know this wasn't your fault. I understand that on a rational level," she began, trying not to get angry. "But, I don't think we can be friends after this. You… you shouldn't have meddled in things that you don't understand," she said firmly, hoping that it was the last time they'd ever have to talk about it.

No matter how much she told herself that she was being unfair and that placing the blame for what happen to Wells on Bellamy was wrong, she could never quite let her head convince her heart of that fact. Deep down, she still felt like Wells might be alive if Bellamy hadn't had his little talk with Charlotte.

She knew that he'd been trying to help and he certainly had never intended for Charlotte to hurt Wells, despite their dislike for each other, but he never should have interfered at all. It wasn't his job or his place to counsel Charlotte. It had been Wells's place and he had been trying so hard to help her and now, because Bellamy had refused to work _with_ Wells, he was dead and Charlotte was looking at life in prison, or worse.

Clarke suddenly felt a little guilty that she hadn't even bothered to check to see how Charlotte was fairing after everything that had happened. In her grief, Clarke had forgotten about anything and everything that didn't have to do with Wells, but there was still time to rectify that oversight. Charlotte was still at TonDC, she was still a patient and Clarke was still responsible for her care for whatever time she had left at the prison and Clarke needed to come to terms with that.

"How is Charlotte?" Clarke asked, making an effort not to sound as cold as she felt.

"I don't know," Bellamy said, dropping his eyes to his lap. "I haven't been allowed to see her since…," but he didn't finish. They both knew what he was trying to say, or not say in this case.

"Oh," Clarke said simply. "Well I have things to do, so if that's all?" she asked, motioning toward the door with her head.

"No, that's not all." Anger had crept into Bellamy's voice. "We need to talk about this. About everything. You can't just keep pushing it away and pretending like nothing happened," he said leaning forward in his seat. "Because something _did_ happen Clarke," he added, his deep brown eyes penetrating hers.

"Yes Bellamy, we kissed." She waved it off like it didn't matter. "It was nice, but now it's over," she said with finality.

"No," Bellamy said, his voice gravelly and deep as he rose to his feet and rounded the side of her desk. "It's not," he added, leaning down to capture her lips with his own.

Electricity cracked down her spine and she felt herself sigh as his tongue slid across her bottom lip. Without any conscious thought, her mouth yielded to his, opening beneath the velvet smoothness of his kiss and she shivered when Bellamy growled his satisfaction.

When they broke apart, Clarke was breathless, but she couldn't tell if it was from anger or excitement as both were currently playing pretty big roles in her brain. It was unbelievable that he had just done that and even more unbelievable that she'd let him!

"This is far from over," he said huskily, touching his forehead to hers, but she stood, finally finding the strength to push him away.

"How dare you Bellamy!" Clarke was livid. "How dare you come in here and do this after everything that's happened, after everything you've done!"

"Clarke I know that we've had some ups and downs, but you liked that kiss. You like it when I touch you," he added, his eyes serious and pleading with her to understand.

Ignoring whatever truth there was in his words, Clarke chose only to focus on the part of the argument she knew she could win.

"Ups and downs? Ups and fucking downs!" Her voice was rising with each word and Bellamy backed up a few steps, clearly not understanding her rage. "You got my best friend killed because you can't stop being a stubborn asshole for five fucking seconds and work _with_ someone. You interfered in something that you never should have been involved in and now Wells is dead, but you're still here and I hate you for it!" She was breathing hard, but far from finished. "I don't want you to touch me. I don't want you to kiss me or look at me or even fucking think about me Bellamy! Whatever this was, whatever you think you had here, it's over. Done. I wish that it was you and not Wells," she said, and pain broke her voice as she threw herself back into her chair and tried not to cry.

Clarke hadn't meant to say it, she hadn't even known she felt it, but now that the words were out, there was no taking them back. She stopped, looking at him aghast, but there was nothing she could say now to make it better. She'd revealed her darkest thoughts, ones that no one was every meant to hear, and now Bellamy was staring at her like she'd killed a part of him.

"Bellamy, I-" but he cut her off, sweeping out the door without looking at her again.

Clarke's head was a mess and her heart was beating erratically in her chest. She wanted to run after him. She wanted to scream at him to leave her alone because she was too much of a mess to deal with whatever they were doing. She wanted to fall into his arms and bury her face in his chest until this nightmare passed.

There were many thing that she wanted to do, but only one thing that she did.

With a deep breath and tears in her eyes, Clarke turned to her computer and began the unpleasant task of drafting her statement, knowing full well that the nightmare was about to get a whole lot worse.

 **A/N:**

 **So I finally decided (after some encouragement from you beautiful people) to return to updating the story here. I'm trying some new things with page breaks. Hopefully FF. net will actually show them this time. Of course, even if that does work, it won't fix the glaring formatting issues elsewhere like not italicizing** **things or forcing blank space off the page. I guess you guys will just have to be frustrated along with me or add emphasis on your own (insert large sigh here). However, this is an old rant of mine and we have other things to talk about. This story is officially two chapters behind the other website (which I cannot publish here because FF will delete it) so things are starting to get a little tricky for me update wise. If anyone is still interested in this on here please let me know and I'll try to rush the next two chapters up in the next few days so both websites will be on the same page again. Also, see what I did there? ;) Hope you guys enjoy the chapter. I'd love to hear from you all!**


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